


One-Man Army

by potentialfordisaster



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: A little scary in the beginning, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Parenting, First Orgasm, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prince!Tom, Very sensitive! Tom, War Era, Warrior!Chris
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentialfordisaster/pseuds/potentialfordisaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most prized possession of the King, Christopher, a brute and lonely warrior, defeats a rival army by himself. Asked after a reward of his preference, Christopher's answer is simple: a night with the King's third son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that lodged itself into my brain yesterday and I just had to write it. Prince!Tom and Warrior!Chris is just, like... I won't even say anything. 
> 
> Also, I imagined Chris as being 23-24 years old and Tom 17-18, it depends on whether you'd prefer to view it as underage or not. 
> 
> [This](http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/castlevania/images/9/91/Judgment-Throne_Room.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20130314054957) is the throne room, which after a quick Google search I came to know belonged to Castlevania, so there it is.

Thomas checked his reflection in the mirror hurriedly for one last time, a servant knocking on his door insistently. His father would undoubtedly be cross with him if he arrived late for another hearing, but it was important that he looked...nice. At least this time. He licked his lips once more, watching as they turned into a deeper rosy color.

Another knock. “My lord?” The servant asked, sounding nervous. “My lord, please, we have to be quick. The King awaits us.” 

“I'll only be a moment.” He excused, pinching his cheeks. Under the flickering torchlights his curls shone golden, his face immaculately pale, eyes blue, only the luscious colour of his lips and cheeks standing out. Taking in a quick breath for courage, Thomas rose from his seat at the dressing table and went to answer the door.

Edwin, his long-time servant, fidgeted impatiently at the other side of the door. “Come, my lord.” He insisted, turning on his heels and walking, Thomas trying to follow his hastened footsteps. They walked down the hallway, the walls sturdy and stony, and walked down a staircase.

Thomas ran his hands down his clothes, wondering if he went wrong on his choice of a white tunic. It was comfortable, leaving his arms and collarbone on display, and Thomas thought that it suited him. 

“Edwin, how do I look?” He asked, adjusting his golden belt. 

Edwin paid him a quick glance over his shoulder before continuing hastily. “You look divine, my lord.” But his words held no genuineness, though Thomas couldn't blame him. He suspected Edwin suffered at the hands of his father everytime he was late. 

By the time they arrived at the throne room's antechamber Thomas was breathing quickly, his cheeks blushing for real. He was about to enter the throne room when Edwin stopped him with a hurried “My lord, your coronet.”

“Right, of course.” Thomas breathed, giving a nervous laugh that he was sure didn't fool Edwin in the slightest, the servant giving him a preoccupied look. 

Thomas went to grab his coronet, deposited in a red velvet where all the royal jewels lay, his the only one left, a further proof of his delay. The golden circlet rested atop his head comfortably, and Edwin just motioned for him to adjust it, being forbidden to touch the jewel. Thomas took a quick breath and nodded, Edwin regally opening the door for him to go by. 

Thomas walked up to his father, kneeling briefly before the King waved him to his seat, sparing him a faint acknowledgement in the form of a low “Thomas.” 

The King's children were numerous. Born out of his second marriage, Thomas was only his third son. On his first marriage the King had garnished himself with two daughters and a son, but Queen Rowena, frail and sickly, hadn't survived the September's fevers, and still young, had passed away. After two victorious wars, grown fat and ruddy with glory, the King had then married Thomas' mother after the signing of a peace treaty. She had given birth to Thomas' elder brother, Benjamin, and his two sisters, Sarah and Emma, the latter being also the youngest, who had arrived three years after Thomas. 

But as their kingdom grew wealthier and bigger so did his father, and barely two months after Emma's birth, to see his concubines walking unperturbedly around the castle was already considered a common sight. Thomas had foggy memories of that time, but he had always felt how quickly his mother had deteriorated, and during his fifth winter, the snow took her away. There were and there still are speculations concerning a third royal wedding. Seven children, however, seemed to be enough to assuage any ruler's mind. 

Thomas was well aware of his position at court. To think that he could someday sit at the throne was an abuse of imagination. The King's preferences still lay with the fruits of his first marriage, and even though the opportunity ever arose, the predisposition for war and ruling strategies did not run in his blood, as ironic as it may sound. 

Thomas sat at their father's left, Sarah shooting him a small smile from his right, and Emma, from his left, looking bored and sleepy, still young and not understanding why her presence was necessary. Benjamin sat between Sarah and the King, but he was the most introverted of all of them and just looked ahead emotionlessly. To their father's right sat the children from his first marriage: Elizabeth, Catherine and Robert, all with raised chins and expressionless faces. But at his father's feet lay his concubines, sinuous forms that stretched around and snickered.

The guards that stood next to the high door leading to the throne room went rigid when from outside, a page screamed “The First Warrior of the Hiddleston House, Christopher Hemsworth, Your Highness.” Thomas shuddered, biting his lip and staring down at his lap. “Returned from battle victorious after slaying two hundred men by himself.” 

There was a collective deep breath in the room at the number, and Thomas shivered, Emma, seated at his left, paying him a scared look. 

Elizabeth, their older stepsister, was whispering something in their father's ear, but the King raised his hand casually so she would cease, and with a smile that denounced his warmonger inclinations, said “Let him in.”

Thomas plastered himself to his seat, waiting with bated breath for the man to appear. The man he had heard so many tales of, the man he had seen before next to his father's army, Thomas' eyes needing the sight of his handsomeness again, of his massive body. He shivered when the high doors creaked open, the hearth from the throne hall invading the room with its light, casting an exaggerated shadow of the figure that gave slow and heavy steps inside.

Christopher looked somber, dirty, brows low, eyes vibrant, a blue that came to life under the torchlights. It looked like he had barely cleaned himself since the battle, his arms huge and full of scratches, a leather armor that had surely seen better days, his boots muddy. He was a tall and large silhouette, seeming to occupy the space of two men with his body alone. There was something in him that was animalistic, an absence of fear or sense. It was easy to see him as the King's most beloved killing machine. 

Thomas hugged the armrests with his fingers, feeling tiny and brittle, but held his chin up as he was wont to do, and focused his gaze at a point beyond Christopher, faking disinterest. 

“There he is!” Their father proclaimed, as Christopher came to a halt before the steps. “My champion! Arms of iron, breast of steel, he's death himself! Come over, come over here.” His father beckoned, Christopher giving a small step forward. The King laughed. “Don't be shy! You're more than welcome here in my court, Christopher.” When the warrior made no sound of acknowledgement neither said anything, his father rested his elbow on his armrest, giving Christopher calculating eyes. “Tell me, Christopher, you have a family, right?”

Christopher just switched his eyes to the King, a motion he took for an affirmative. “Well, I'll see that they shall have all they need. Food, lands... jewels.” Thomas' father smiled, humming and drumming his fingers on his throne. “This is my form of paying you back for everything you've done for the Crown, Christopher.” Their father rose from the throne, and beside them all of his children exchanged sideways glances. “And you have done quite a lot, haven't you?” His father laughed again, and his concubines giggled at his feet. “Hasn't he, girls?” They nodded and turned half-lidded eyes to Christopher, one of them crawling and lying at his feet, Christopher looking down casually.

Thomas furiously averted his gaze, biting the inside of his lower lip, his heart beating in angst. His father laughed again, looking like he was having the time of his life. “Oh, you see, they liked you, Christopher!” The concubine next to him ran her hands up his shins, and Christopher eyed his father again, the King pacing the top of the steps. Someone, most probably Elizabeth, cleared her throat in discomfort, and their father's eyes went back to his children quickly. “What a head of mine! Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Christopher. A King with no manners, where else would you see that?” His father rested his hands on his hips, chuckling. “This is my family, Christopher.” He said, gesturing to his children. “Just like you have Liam and Luke and your parents,” Christopher's eyes went alight when their father said that, widening and watching him with pursed lips, uncaring of the concubine writhing at his feet. “I have my children.”

If the King felt cornered by Christopher's heavy look, he didn't show it, and clapped his hand. “Let me introduce you, then.” He waved his hand to the end of the row of seats. “That one is Prince Robert, my heir and first son. Elizabeth, my first daughter. Catherine, my second.” His father turned to the other side, Christopher following his lead and eyeing each of Thomas' brothers and sisters. “From my last marriage, this is Benjamin, my second son. Sarah, my third daughter.” Thomas took in a deep breath, staring at his lap and scratching the nape of his neck shyly. “Thomas, my third son.” Thomas lifted his eyes quickly, blushing and lowering them again when he met Christopher's eyes on him. “And finally, Emma, my youngest girl.” Their father finished, punctuating the end of the sentence with a short laugh. “Quite a family I have, right?”

At Christopher's small nod, his father hummed, and silence reigned over the room as he continued with his pacing. “Do you know why I required your presence here, Christopher?”

Thomas could see as their brothers and sisters shifted in their seats, and Christopher shook his head lightly. “I'll tell you why.” Their father slowed down his steps. “Because you're very worthy, Christopher. Truly. Your victory, your name, your invincibility,” The King closed his fist. “They shall be remembered forever, for the future generations to know that under my reign our kingdom was strong, unbeatable, peaceful, ferocious just like you.” He pointed a finger at Christopher, trying to intice him and receive a reaction other than his serious and somber face. His father took a long breath and pronounced, “For that you'll receive another Royal Title, and a bonus,” He raised his finger for emphasis. “A gift from me to you: you can ask for anything you'd like, Christopher. Anything. Just say the word and it's yours.”

That seemed to have Christopher thinking, his eyes lowering and wandering over the floor. 

“Lordships, lands, castles, gold, women.” Thomas' father exemplified. “Anything you ask for.”

All eyes turned to Christopher when the warrior asked “Anything?”

The King laughed, as if amazed that Christopher could actually speak. “Yes, anything, my friend.”

Only the King's pacing could be heard as Christopher thought about it, even the concubines were, for once, silent. Thomas ran his hands down his thighs to clean them off his sweat, and like everyone in the room, waited with bated breath. 

To have a King offering this sort of reward to a warrior that possessed his favor was nothing new. Still, it was risky. To give him absolute power over his request could be tricky if the warrior asked for something that could surpass the possible. Even though benefiting Christopher's family and handing him more titles served as a method to lessen his request, his real choice was unpredictable. If he were, for example, to ask for all of the King's gold, despite any protest or impertinence, there would be no other option than to give it to him.

Once again Christopher surprised the room with his voice, deep and hoarse. “I want a night.”

The King raised his eyebrows, confused and surprised. “You mean you want to spend the night with someone of your choice?”

Christopher nodded, blinking slowly and not taking his eyes away from Thomas' father. The King laughed, and though it sounded joyous for independent reasons, Thomas could distinguish it as a relieved one. “Well, your wish is my command!” 

Thomas gulped. To his father and for everyone else in the room – who let out calm breaths – Christopher's request was simple and idiotic, but to Thomas it was unnerving. To know that Christopher would bed whatever women or men of his choice, perhaps more than one. 

“Then tell me, Christopher: who?” The warrior just watched the King with his usual stoic eyes. “One of my concubines, perhaps?” Christopher frowned, and Thomas' father was quick to add. “Don't worry, I wouldn't bother. I can share with you, I'm not an egoistic man. And a warrior like yourself, Christopher, I'd feel honoured.” 

Thomas watched in disgust as his father's concubines giggled and whispered, giving Chris' body an open appraising look. Well, they would no doubt die to spend a night with such a fine specimen as Christopher instead of Thomas' fat and old father. Fiddling with the cloth of his tunic, Thomas turned his head away when the concubine at Christopher's feet rose and slid her body next to his, her stiff nipples visible through the see-through material his father made them wear. 

Lord, Thomas hated those women. 

“Perhaps more than one?” The King continued with his suggestions, the Princes and Princesses uninterested and bored, already previewing the outcome.

“I'm curious now. Aren't you, children?” Thomas' father incited, Thomas giving a low whine that only Sarah heard, sparing him a funny look. 

Thomas couldn't believe that he had been so excited before, that he had dressed up, like a goddamn fool, for this. What had he been waiting for, anyway? Ugh, he just wanted to go back to his bedchamber, read a sad poem and pretend to sleep. 

Christopher shook his head, and the King's smile faltered a bit, growing more fearful. “No? You don't desire any of my women?” The warrior shook his head again, and Thomas' father, cocking his head to the side, gave a short laugh before continuing. “Fine. Is there someone else you covet? A maiden? A lady of my court?”

And still, Christopher shook his head. The throne room stood in heavy silence, the Princes and Princesses exchanging nervous looks. If Christopher didn't wish for any low-born maiden, concubine and not even some courtier, it could only mean that he wished for one of them. But, certainly, their father wouldn't allow it... Tricky Christopher, here he had anyone thinking that he would settle for some loose concubine when he'd ask for the higher prestige like that of virgin royalty. 

The King's smile had now faltered for good. He clicked his tongue once and looked down at his feet, where his concubines had gathered with wounded prides and unrequited attention. “Christopher, I think you understand that virginity is a very important requirement for any marriage, even more so for a royal one.” Thomas watched as Sarah closed her eyes in relief and exhaled slowly. “However...” Her eyes shot open, and Thomas whipped his head toward his father. “A warrior of your importance-”

“Father.” It was Elizabeth, her face even paler than usual, staring ahead, petrified. 

But their father lifted his hand to ask for their silence, and Thomas watched with constricted lips as he went on. “It would be considered a great honour for anyone to marry what once belonged to a legendary warrior such as Christopher.” The King turned to face them, smiling brightly like his idea was brilliant. 

“Father, please.” It was Catherine, leaned forward on her seat, hands tight around her armrests, her eyes pleading.

“I'm doing you a favor, my darling.” Their father acquiesced, the face of benevolence. 

Thomas' mouth was hanging open, not knowing what to do, where to look at. Sarah grabbed his hand and he took a look at her, eyes wide. Why was their father doing that? Couldn't he see that he would ruin them? But quickly, Sarah's eyes settled on Emma, pale and rigid beside Thomas.

“No.” Thomas whispered. Emma was but a girl, she had barely reached puberty, only last summer did she... And yet- yet if Christopher was to ask it, Thomas was sure his father would agree. It was no news that their father had a soft spot for the children of his first marriage. Thomas wished he was right when thinking that Christopher wasn't that kind of man, that he wouldn't do that. But not even his deepest wishes could brush away the reasoning that Christopher was a killer, a barbarian, that he would set eyes on someone and not let them go until he had finally gotten his fill. To other warriors, that fill was death. To a lover... who knows. 

Thomas couldn't believe this night had become so nightmarish so fast. 

“Elizabeth, my first?” The King offered, Elizabeth hiding her face behind her hands, fingers shaking. “Or my beloved Catherine?” 

Catherine literally screeched, and the sound was so gruesome that Thomas' heart jumped in his chest, his fingertips turning cold. 

Before the King could continue, though, Christopher raised a hand, the movement so unexpected that even Thomas' father shut his mouth. They watched in slow motion as Christopher shook his head, opening his mouth so his voice could cut through the room like a blade. “I want him.” And with his index finger, pointed on Thomas' direction, the third Prince's mouth going dry.

“M-Me?” He shuddered, only hearing Emma's gasp beside him but being unable to look.

Christopher nodded, and their eyes met, Thomas' wide and surprised, Christopher's dark and certain. 

There was a moment of absolute pause when not even the torchlights dared to crackle. And then the King's laughter came, so high and obnoxious that Thomas felt like he was having his soul sold to the Devil. 

“My Thomas, you mean my Thomas!” His father laughed out loud, his concubines joining. And even though Thomas knew that his brothers and sisters weren't bad people after all, he could feel as the atmosphere grew lighter, and if he could read their thoughts, he expected them to be something along the lines of 'Thank God it wasn't me.'

“Come here, my Thomas! Come!” Their father called, Thomas' muscles completely rigid. 

“Father.” It was Sarah who was begging now, fisting the skirts of her dress tightly. “Please, father, he-”

Their father clicked his tongue in denial. “No, no, no. Thomas is a big boy.” He beckoned Thomas to stand, and he did so on shaky legs, swallowing dryly and giving short steps until standing next to his father, blue eyes still fixated on Christopher's. “Right, Thomas, now go and greet Christopher.” His father placed a hand on his shoulder, and Thomas gave vacillating steps ahead. “Go ahead, don't be shy. You don't want to greet your lover?”

Christopher frowned, and sent Thomas' father a dark but quick look, clearly disliking his treatment of Thomas, who walked down the steps slowly, his fingers shaking lightly.

He stood in front of Christopher, who was not really that much taller than him, but seemed bigger and more imposing because of his wide shoulders and thick muscles. 

“Thomas, is that the way to greet your lover?” His father asked from his throne, and Thomas, blushing, with more courage than he thought he possessed, extended his knuckles. Christopher's brows finally unfurled, his face looking younger. He slid his callous and big fingers under Thomas', who lowered his eyes, cheeks flaming. Christopher didn't take his eyes away from him, and laid a kiss to his knuckles that had Thomas shivering and his heart doing a somersault. 

He had chosen him. Christopher had chosen him. He had had all the kingdom at his disposition and yet he had chosen Thomas, the third Prince, not the first or the second, not even his stepsisters. 

“Very well.” His father's loud voice interrupted the moment, Thomas recoiling his hand as if burned, but looking at Christopher timidly. “I believe Christopher is tired now so we'll let him go rest. But tomorrow, Christopher.” His father promised. “Tomorrow you shall have your night.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, the chapters are not growing exponentially. First of all, I'm sorry for still not having written the smut, but it'll come next chapter. I increased the fic's expected length because I couldn't update this chapter with everything I had planned for it, 'cause it would take too long. Also, I'll travel next week so that would leave me no time to update or write, so I hope you understand that next chapter will take some time too. 
> 
> Last but not least, thank you so much for the phenomenal feedback I've and still am receiving for this fic. I'm crazy about this otp and I'm very glad to know that it's not dead. Lots of love and many kisses! <3

Thomas couldn't sleep that night. After exiting the throne room his brothers and sisters sent him looks like he was a condemned heading to the guillotine. Sarah had looked like she had wanted to tell him something but just her sorrowful look had him backing away, not exactly fond of the idea of listening to her sobs. In bed, he tossed and turned but couldn't find any sleep among his sheets. His body seemed to be running on adrenaline alone and his feet were perpetually cold. 

Giving up, he rose and lighted a candle, taking it with him to his study table, where he opened the bottom drawer and retrieved some folds of paper. 

The first contained a rude drawing of a man with lowered brows and heavy eyes, large shoulders and long legs, seated atop what looked like a pile of skulls. It was Christopher. An old merchant had sold it to him once when Thomas had visited the markets without his father's consent, although the long coat he wore to hide himself only drew more attention to him. “The King's dog.” The old man had said, his breath foul, an eye that squinted at Thomas, his mouth missing several teeth. “Heard he killed one hundred last time, on the south provinces.” Thomas had extended his hand to take a closer look, his pale and soft wrist probably delating his high position. “Do you know him, m'lord?” The merchant had asked, and Thomas, shaking his head, eyes glued on the drawing, had paid for the overpriced piece of paper and left.

The rest of the papers contained his own caligraphy, reports from Christopher's recents whereabouts, men he had killed, cities he had pillaged; all tales that were whispered among the courtiers, Thomas listening earnestly before excusing himself, writing it down before his memory could fail him. 

It was a little embarrassing, Thomas felt like a collector of useless things. He didn't really know when it had begun, but it had probably been some days after Christopher appeared at the castle so his father could hand him his first title, Thomas watching him quietly, a little scared but pleasantly impressed. 

He had this idea that Christopher wasn't a monster. He felt like a good soul, silent and dark in a way that Thomas viewed more as a form of protecting himself rather than instilling fear on others. To think that he had already killed probably a thousand men was a thought that Thomas steered away from, and just his inability to think something other than good things about Christopher should be an early signal on how he was growing crazy.

He read all of his reports twice, meanwhile trying to engrain in his mind that the man who killed with so much dexterity and precision was the same man he would be spending the night with. A cold shiver went up his spine, the hairs on his neck standing on end. Thomas gasped and blew the candle out, hiding himself under his sheets, running a hand over his own skin, feeling fragile and thin; easily breakable. 

~*~

In the morning he couldn't make himself eat much, his stomach churned and he had to take in large gulpfuls of air to be able to finally swallow some bread and cheese. Edwin stood dutifully by his door, and when he thought Thomas wasn't looking, sent him a sad look. His father's “gift” was no doubt the talk of the castle right now, and Thomas could only hope that the news wouldn't reach the townsfolk before noon. 

Edwin cleared his throat. “My lord, your Highness has asked me to tell you that-” He waved, as if trying to find the right words. “The warrior has been invited for supper, and that he expects your presence there. Your father, I mean, expects your presence, not the warrior, although I think he'd also-” Edwin trailed off, grimaced and looked down.

“It's fine.” Thomas said, more to reassure himself. “I'll be there.” Thomas moved the breakfast tray away from him. So this was how it was going to be, they would have supper first and then be sent to a room together. “Is it going to be my room?”

Edwin frowned. “Sorry, my lord?”

Thomas bit his lip. “Will we use my room? Tonight?” 

“Oh.” Edwin blushed. “I don't know, my lord. Your Highness has made no arrangements on this matter so far.” 

Thomas nodded, and looked down at the floor. “Tell him I'd prefer if it were.”

Edwin looked uncertain, but whispered an “Of course, my lord.” and took the tray with him on his way out.

~*~

Thomas didn't leave his bedchamber, fearing the looks he would receive and the talk he would hear. A little after his second meal, however, a chambermaid knocked on his door, letting him know that his father had agreed on letting them use his bedchamber. He had to leave in the end, for she would need to clean everything; and seeking solitude, entered the library. 

There were few people inside, and Thomas quickly grabbed a heavy tome and found a seat near the window, where he could watch the gray waters of the lake moving at a distance. The weather was apathetic, the sky white and heavy with clouds, and Thomas paid attention to the minimum things to avoid thinking about what the upcoming hours would bring. The book he had picked was old and dusty, and as he turned the pages his fingers acquired a raspy quality to it. He was trying to rid himself of it when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Thomas turned abruptly to find Sarah's face staring back at him. Sighing, he slid to the side to allow her some space to sit, which she did promptly.

“Brother, how are you feeling?” She asked, grasping his hand. 

Thomas shook his head, not really knowing how to express himself. 

With worried eyes, Sarah looked around and slipped something in his hand. Thomas frowned and looked down, a small flask containing an oily substance in it. He had a vague idea on why Sarah was giving that to him, but still looked at her for elaboration. 

“Promise me you'll use it, brother.” She whispered. Thomas blushed and averted his gaze, but Sarah leaned forward and tightened her grip in his hand. “Thomas, please, he's a brute, he'll-”

“Sarah.” Thomas cut in. He understood his sister's fears, but if she was trying to calm him down she wasn't doing it right. He didn't want to believe that Christopher would be forceful with him, although if he used his logical thinking that was probably how he was going to behave. They didn't know each other, and the reason why Christopher had chosen him was still shady to Thomas. 

Sarah swallowed, and when Thomas thought she had nothing else to say, she surprised him with her voice. “I don't know why father let him.” Her posture was still the same, but her eyes were full of anger. “He had no reason to.” 

Thomas hid the flask on the folds of his clothes and shook his head. “I'd rather not think about father's reasons at all.” 

His sister's eyebrows pinched, and Thomas thought she was about to cry. Instead, she sniffled and leaned closer to him. “I tried to talk him out of it, Thomas, but he wouldn't even listen to me.” She let go of his hand to curl hers into a fist and stared at the tabletop. “He said he'll send a healer for you tomorrow.” Sarah turned her eyes to him, a fierce protector. “That I made him promise.”

Thomas felt a little disgusted, but nodded because there was nothing else he could say or do. Before leaving, Sarah hugged him and whispered. “It could've been anyone of us, brother. Anyone of us.”

Again, her words served as much to calm him as to make him feel like shit. The thought that he had been chosen by mere misfortune wasn't exactly comfortable, and neither was that of his brothers and sisters possessing some virtue that turned them substantially less or more choosable than him. He wondered if she was right, though, that if for Christopher anyone else would suffice. 

~*~

Returning to his bedchamber only had his stomach dropping. His sheets had been changed into white and smooth ones, where the servants would no doubt see the... stains. Thomas sighed and sat by his window, gulping and running his hands down his thighs. The treacherous sun, above the mat of white clouds, was beginning to set, painting the sky an opaque shade of orange. Every minute drew him nearer to supper and consequently, nearer to Christopher. The worst was he had no idea what to feel, happiness or fear or disgust for his father or Christopher. It was all a mixed up bundle of foggy emotions that had him a little dizzy and nervous.

There was a short knock on his door, but before Thomas could say something it was opened and in came Elizabeth. 

Thomas was surprised to see her. Elizabeth spent most of her time drowning in the kingdom's politics, possessing a sense of duty and entitlement that frightened him. She wasn't necessarily a bad person, but then again Thomas never considered anyone a bad person, not even Christopher, with his ceaseless killing, was bad. But the fact was that Thomas had a different vision of people, seeing them more as the result of the circumstances they were put through other than completely inclined for the evil or for the good. That's why when Elizabeth showed up, despite their history of not talking, he didn't think much of it, and watched curiously as she sat herself at the edge of his bed.

Elizabeth glanced at his room, and when her eyes met Tom's, she grinned. “My bedchamber is bigger than yours.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows, not really being aware of that fact. “Truly?”

She nodded, and absently looked over her shoulder at his recently made bed. There was something in her smile that had always creeped Thomas a little, but he remained impassive, waiting for her to state the reason for her presence in his bedchambers – uninvitedly, if he may add. 

“Are you ready for tonight?” Elizabeth asked, the quirk of her eyebrows startling him.

Thomas shrugged. “I don't think I'll ever be ready.” But before he had even finished his sentence Elizabeth was sighing and shaking her head.

“I have to tell you I had no idea he'd choose you, Thomas.” She said, sounding disappointed on her own lack of prediction. 

Thomas was beginning to feel that she hadn't come here with good intentions in mind, but blinked and waited for further elaboration. 

“That means, I thought he'd be intelligent enough not to choose you.” She smirked. “But it looks like he isn't.”

He looked out the window and frowned, wondering why she was telling him that. “It's nothing personal, you see. But we're political characters, any move involving us should carry some political meaning.” She sighed. “But Christopher's move by choosing you carries none.” Elizabeth's fingers ran over the sheets and she snorted. “Of course he'll get another reputation once he has bedded our darling virgin Prince.” Elizabeth turned her eyes to him, and something sharp on them had Thomas' back stiffening. “But that's hardly a political move, don't you think? Unless-”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Thomas cut her off, feeling brave. 

Elizabeth smiled. “Because I couldn't understand why he did it and I thought that perhaps you had an idea.” She answered.

Thomas sighed, and began to wonder what he would wear for the night. Edwin would surely be here in a couple minutes to help him. “Well, I have no idea.”, he replied. Elizabeth hummed, and said nothing else, but Thomas, curious, asked. “What would you prefer he had done?”

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “I'd have prefered if he had chosen me, obviously.”

Thomas' mouth fell, his eyes widening. “But- you, you looked so... reluctant.”

Elizabeth sniggered. “I know, I've mastered that look. I thought he was the kind of man that thinks denial a very attractive trait. But again, I was wrong.”

Thomas could only shake his head slowly. Why would she do that? Did his stepsister, by coincidence, want Christopher like he did? “But why?”

“Because, Thomas,” she rose from the bed, and Thomas watched warily as she paced the length of his chamber. “I'm, as you can see, a woman.” Elizabeth said, waving her hands down her silhouette. “If Christopher had chosen me I could've conceived tonight.” Thomas paled. Christopher and Elizabeth? A baby? The mere thought disgusted him, and frowning, he watched his stepsister as she continued. “You may not know it, but our people have a very barbaric culture. Don't you think they would prefer a King with more... violent streaks?” Her eyes crinkled when she smiled, gray just like her mother's, Thomas had heard. “Outside this castle Christopher is more King than father has ever been.”

“Is that what you want? Is that what you had planned?” He asked, shocked. Elizabeth looked smugly down at him, and Thomas whispered. “To overthrow father?” 

“We're never getting the throne, Thomas.” She said, her answer enough of a confirmation. “Neither me nor you. You because you're the youngest male and me,” She sighed. “Because I'm a female.” 

Thomas swallowed and looked down at his lap. Perhaps in her place he would have the same desires. Elizabeth was father's first-born and not being the direct heir to the throne was surely something that bugged her to no end. But Thomas had no desire for the throne. 

“If I conceived it'd be the perfect opportunity. The people would support a marriage between the Princess and the King's warrior. Father would have to agree with it, otherwise...” She shrugged, a malicious glint in her eyes. “I could rule next to Christopher. I'd be something other than father's first daughter.” 

Her words were bitter, and Thomas felt more sorry than averted to her. Thomas shook his head, not believing. “Elizabeth, that's ridiculous. No one would support it. Taking father from the throne and putting Christopher?”

Elizabeth wasn't fuming like he had expected her to, she was looking at him with a superior expression that always had Thomas cowering. “You don't know his power, Thomas.” She said, and gave him her back, turning for the door but sparing him a glance over her shoulder. “You don't know the power Christopher has over the people. And neither does he.”

~*~

“This one, my lord?” Edwin asked, his face pale but expressionless, holding out a burgundy vesture for Thomas to inspect. 

Thomas sighed, running his hands down his chest. He paid it a quick look and nodded. Edwin turned to open the buttons and Thomas slipped the flask of oil Sarah had given to him into his bedside drawer. A part of his mind mourned over the fact that he hadn't had the opportunity to use it, while the other part was still confused over what Elizabeth had told him. To think that she was their father's favourite daughter, plotting behind his back. And her plan was so deficient. Perhaps she was more jealous than angry.

By the time Edwin had finished fastening his clothes, the nervousness that ate at the bottom of his stomach had returned. In no time he'd be back to this room, his fate awaiting him like a hole on his path that he couldn't go past without falling in. He didn't even care what would happen after, couldn't even understand tomorrow as a new day, everything he was was focused on what would happen tonight. Having Christopher as a bedmate, even though if for only a night, could be his doom or his salvation. Some people could see it as a good thing, sharing a bed with one of great importance to the kingdom had its perks and gifts; but it had its bad side too. 

Thomas was in a very delicate position. All he had was his blood and his virginity. To be a Prince was alright, even a third Prince, again, Thomas wasn't ambitious; but a third Prince who had been revealingly deflowered by a warrior was another, completely different position to be in. He could be abandoned, unwanted, could remain unmarried, left to rot inside this castle's walls like a pretty flower that had lost its bloom, kept only until someone with a wicked mind – like Elizabeth – decided to flick him off the board.

“Would you require my assistance with anything else, m'lord?” Edwin asked, stepping back. Even his servant looked hesitant, as if he too understood the implications of Thomas' current situation.

“No, that'd be all, Edwin, thank you.” Thomas said, staring back at his reflection on the full-length mirror. 

Edwin curtsied and smiled reassuringly to him, closing the door after leaving. Thomas released a breath and set to his dressing table. There was no time for anything other than a feel adjustments though he suspected no one could actually blame him for being late tonight. He dabbed a faint fragance behind his ears and over his wrists, loosening his collar, which felt like it was going to suffocate him. He had just bathed, but already he could feel the sweat beginning to leave his pores under his clothes. 

His face was ghostly white and Thomas thought about how he should've asked Sarah for some of her blushing powder. Shrugging, he just pinched his cheeks. He wondered if there was anything else that he could do to alleviate some of his tension, but settled for giving his bedchamber a last look. He walked slowly and closed his hand around the doorknob.

He shut his eyes and thought of Christopher; not of war machine Christopher, or evil Christopher with heavy brows and a pile of skulls. He thought of Christopher, lonely and feared Christopher, of his gentle kiss over Thomas' knuckles, of the way he looked at him and shifted on his feet, uncomfortable amidst all of his father's luxury and wealth. 

Thomas breathed lightly, and exited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any typos or mistakes, English is not my mother language. Also, a hug to the tumblr anons that have nudged me after updates, it was very encouraging! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay! A hundred things happened and I had to finish this chapter with a running nose at 1 am after taking antibiotics. Also, I'm computerless, but my father doesn't use his computer save for opening Internet Explorer, so I have it as a temporary arrangement. 
> 
> This chapter has some typos because I couldn't review everything, sorry again. The smut scene is a little off because I don't think I write them very well, but it's the longest one I've written so far; I don't know if it counts for anything. 
> 
> I'd like to thank everyone that literally grew a little older while waiting for the update. There's nothing better than receiving comments and kudos, it only encourages me into writing more and better! <3 A big, bacteria-filled kiss to all of you!

“Oh, Thomas, there you are!” His father exclaimed from the head of the table. 

Keeping his gaze firmly lowered, Thomas walked toward the table. His brothers sat next to his father, Robert facing Benjamin, and his sisters facing each other. Thomas sat at the only chair left, across Christopher, and thought about how the choice of seats had probably been meticulously arranged by his father. 

“We were worried you had done something drastic, right, kids?” His father asked, turning his eyes to his children, who didn't react in any way. By drastic, Thomas assumed they thought he had ran away or even killed himself, but that would be too melodramatic of an action. “Christopher here almost had a heart attack.” His father laughed. “You wouldn't want to spoil the man's most awaited night, my son.” 

Cringing, Thomas was well aware of Christopher's gaze on him. Embarrassed with his father's lack of decency, Thomas lifted his eyes quickly and flushed. Christopher had clearly bathed, allowing Thomas to notice that his hair was in fact, blond. He had it in a low ponytail, and the lack of it framing his face borrowed him a cleaner and more civilized aspect. Christopher wore a white tunic that hung low at his collarbone, threadbare with too many washings. He had probably done his best to impress and he looked up at Thomas with huge eyes, like some stray dog looking for affection. Swallowing, Thomas shifted his gaze back to the table, where his empty plate lay before him. 

“Well, since our main guest is here and Thomas has graced us with his presence...” The King said, and waved at the servants who stood dutifully around the room. On his command they moved hastily, disposing steaming trays and pots along the table. The mixed smell of spices and roasted meat, that usually whet his appetite now held no appeal to Thomas, who stared at his empty plate and fiddled with his cutlery. Risking a quick look up at Christopher, Thomas watched as the warrior seemed to take everything in with his eyes, unaccustomed to such abundance of food. A part of Thomas' heart warmed in sympathy. “Christopher,” his father called, Thomas startling. “I hope you'll find everything to your liking. Be our guest.” 

Christopher nodded quickly, and just as he noticed that everyone had started to serve themselves, leaned forward to do the same, scooping up a large quantity of the meat placed between him and Thomas. Slowly, Thomas served himself, a small portion of vegetables and grains that he found very distracting to play with the end of his fork. Sarah shot him a preoccupied look, and he felt that in any other circumstance she'd have spoken up and convinced him to eat some more. Instead, she maintained her lips clipped and made a valiant effort to look down at her own plate and chew leisurely. 

Christopher ate like a starving man, head ducked over his plate. Catherine, who sat beside him, drew her arms in when it became clear that Christopher wouldn't take his elbows off the table, twisting her nose in disapproval of his posture. Thomas blushed, feeling somehow embarrassed for Christopher's behavior, even though it was something out of his control. Their father seemed jubilant with it all, often praising Christopher's appetite and urging him to have more. Thomas's brothers and sisters remained quiet, eating their fill slowly and altogether ignoring them. 

Thomas sighed and ate a pea. It was oddly humiliating, and Thomas wished he could do something. Christopher was a warrior recently returned from battle, his origins were humble, and his father prefered to make a spectacle out of it other than respect it and let it go. It felt like he was mocking his own people for the position he made them occupy. It revolted Thomas' stomach. 

Elizabeth shot him a look that Thomas wasn't sure how to interpret, a mix of pity and sarcasm. Biting his bottom lip, Thomas tried to eat some more, taking a sip of red wine whenever his throat felt too dry. Their father rambled at the head of the table, telling an unattentive Christopher about where the food came from, the results of his many trades with the eastern nations, rich in spices. 

Thomas' plate was still full, and squirming, he reached for the smallest and last piece of meat before him, only to watch Christopher's fork digging into the lamb skin. Startled, Thomas looked up, meeting Christopher's eyes. They stared at each other, Christopher's eyes widened like those of a spooked deer. Thomas gulped and retreated slowly, Christopher quickly letting go of the food and leaning back. The innocent meat lay there. For what felt like a whole minute they remained this way, until Christopher poked the bowl closer to Thomas, his eyes full of meaning, kindness. 

Taken aback, Thomas smiled slowly, blushing and taking the meat for himself. Christopher, chest puffed, turned his eyes to Thomas' father, nodding as the man kept speaking tiresomely. 

Surprised and feeling like the keeper of a secret, Thomas bit into the food with new vigor, but maintained his gaze low should Christopher look up at him again. 

He felt tender inside, as though his organs had somehow liquefied with the weight of this new discovery that Christopher was indeed every bit a gentleman hidden underneath a rustic skin. It made him all the more fascinating, lovely even. 

Thomas could feel a heat spreading from his cheeks to his ears, and when Sarah glanced his way it was with a small frown cinching her brows. 

The sound of cutlery meeting the end of porcelain plates grew in frequency and diminished until ceasing altogether. At the head of the table, Thomas' father continued his speech concerning his recent achievement in territory expansion, thanks, obviously, to Christopher. 

They still had dessert before supper was finished, but already Thomas' hands twitched in his lap. At an elegant hand gesture from his father, the servants realigned and took their plates away, exchanging them for clean ones. A corpulent cook with red cheeks carried a tray inside and deposited it at the table's center, raising the lid to present the most delicious-looking vanilla pudding Thomas had ever seen. Gasping, he looked up to find the cook's gaze upon him, sending him a quick and sad smile before excusing herself and exiting the room. 

Not holding back a smirk, Thomas waited, watching as his father and brothers took a slice out of the pudding, his sisters doing the same. Eager to get a slice of his own, Thomas slid his plate closer, extending his arm to get ahold of the knife, too far out of his reach. Christopher's bronze and large hand beat him to it, however, and with certain dismay, Thomas could only watch as he cut out a sizeable slice, only to set it down on Thomas' plate gently, looking up at him with warm eyes. 

Heart fluttering, a heat pooled beneath Thomas' stomach, who stuttered out a response. "T-Thank you." 

Christopher nodded, smiling down and parting a small portion of the pudding for himself. Under the surprised silence that followed, Sarah, who had been shooting Christopher gelid and distrustful looks all night long, made an inquisitive face. Thomas shrugged quickly, but his pleasure must've been apparent. 

All too soon Thomas finished his slice, laying his fork down softly. The vanilla flavor still lingered in his mouth, under his tongue and at the corners of his cheeks, and faintly, Thomas wondered if Christopher's mouth now held the same taste, itching to find out but being too scared to give himself too many hopes of a kiss between them. 

"Well, Christopher, I hope you've enjoyed our supper." Thomas' father said, patting his extended belly. "It's not every day that we have a guest here, even more so one of your magnitude, hn?" The King grinned, winking at Christopher, who didn't apparently understand what he meant, but smiled nonetheless. 

Thomas' brothers and sisters kept their eyes lowered, and Thomas did the same. "Now I'll retire to my smoking chamber and invite you into accompanying me, Christopher." The King continued, making an effort to stand on his legs. As usual, all stood for him, Thomas folding his hands in front of his lap. "Have you ever tried true tobacco?" 

"I don't smoke." Christopher answered, his voice as deep as Thomas remembered. 

Their father laughed. "Oh, look at this. Come, Christopher, follow me." He said, a servant opening the small door at the corner of the room that his children - save Robert and Elizabeth - were forbidden to enter. Confused, Thomas exchanged looks with Sarah and Emma, thinking that perhaps his father had forgotten about his gift to Christopher. 

"Thomas," His father called, a hand on Christopher's shoulder as they paused before crossing the threshold. Thomas looked up, gulping, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You can return to your bedchambers to wait for Christopher." 

Thomas nodded stiffly, eyes firmly locked with Christopher's over his father's shoulders. The door was shut with a quiet click, and if by magic, all in the room sighed in relief, loosening postures and walking toward the exit. Thomas followed, his heart mad inside his chest. 

"Thomas," Sarah whispered behind him. They were walking down the narrow corridor that led to the antechamber, full of armchairs and liquor bottles, where Robert and Benjamin quickly strayed to, pouring glasses and murmuring quietly. Sarah sidled up to him, knuckles brushing the back of his fingers. "Thomas, did you use it?" She whispered, eyes flitting over his face, frightened. 

Sighing, Thomas looked ahead. "No." 

"Oh." Sarah moaned, closing her eyes and clutching her chest with a pale hand. 

They left the antechamber, neither of his siblings sparing Thomas a look nor a kind word. When times get rough, Thomas had read once, you'll realize who your real friends are. Sarah's trembling hand took his, however, nervously ticking his balance forward to whisper. "Thomas, please. You have to use it, I've heard-" She locked her lips together, ignoring Thomas' confused frown in order to cup his shoulder and steer him on the direction of his chamber. "Go, make haste." 

"Sarah?" He mumbled, hesitating once before his sister's hushing hand gestures drove him back to his way in anxiety. 

Already Edwin waited for him, standing professionally beside Thomas' door in a time where the Prince hoped only for solitude and an empty chamber to let out his frenzied breaths in. 

"Edwin," he began, but his servant nodded as if anticipating Thomas' words, and feebly motioned to a group of servants that stood behind him, which Thomas hadn't seen given the low light afforded by a single torchlight. "My lord, the King has given us personal instructions to assist you before the-" He paused, flicking his gaze to Thomas in what had to be embarrassment. "The warrior arrives." 

With that, he opened the door to Thomas' chamber, the Prince walking inside with flaming cheeks and uncertain steps. The servants quickly busied themselves, lighting the torchlights and even a low candelabra Thomas was certain had never belonged in his chamber. He wasn't sure when his father had decided to make the arrangements of his bedchamber into such an event, but the King's dislike for discretion and anything unregal-like should've been anticipated. Avoiding looking in their direction, Thomas stood at the center of the room, Edwin approaching him calmly. 

"Your clothes, my lord." He sentenced, looking as unsteady as Thomas felt, the Prince startling and cocking his head, afraid he had heard wrong. "S-Sorry?" 

Edwin gulped. "Your clothes." He declared in somewhat of a firmer tone. 

Mouth agape, Thomas made an incoherent noise on the back of his throat, looking unsurely to the side. He was unused to disrobing in front of so many; only Edwin had ever seen him and Thomas always made sure to keep his breeches on. The thought - or else, the certainty - that Christopher would be the first to ever see him with nothing on had Thomas shivering, only now feeling the full force of what his father was making him do without his consent, having Thomas drop his clothes and give up his virginity to the most feared man of all kingdoms with barely a flick of his wrist. 

Cornered, however, there was nothing Thomas could do about it, and seeking to shorten his embarrassment, began to unfasten his clothes, accepting Edwin's help. He kept his eyes focused on the floor, where the pale nubs of his toes made a stark contrast against the stony background. The night was cold, and a fresh gust of wind came in through the window, twisting the flames and prompting servants to close the shutters, painting Thomas' skin in goosebumps. 

He stood, finally, solely on his smallclothes, flinching away from the two servants that appeared between him and Edwin, carrying a white nightgown in their arms. 

"My lord?" Edwin spoke, attracting Thomas' nervous gaze. "Do you need my assistance to-?" He gestured to the Prince's lean body, Thomas imagining the pathetic image he made, his pale and thin limbs. 

"No." Thomas blurted, taking the offered nightgown and sliding it on with little effort, his curls bobbing when the tight collar went through his head and settled below his neck. The material reached mid-thighs, and Thomas blinked beneath the glowing lights, staring at the servants that now stood and waited. Edwin brushed them away with a gentle motion, the sound of their steps echoing as they made a line and exited Thomas' bedchamber. 

Now alone with his trustful servant, Thomas sighed, feeling his nerves prick on the tips of his fingers and flutter down his chest. 

"I normally wouldn't insist, my lord." Edwin said, looking pointedly at Thomas' smallclothes, still apparent under the flimsy material of his nightgown. His servant grimaced in sympathy when Thomas nodded in understanding, bending to slide them down his legs. "But they were your father's orders." Edwin concluded, his face sad. 

Thomas bit his bottom lip in revolt, squaring his jaw as he nodded and folded the piece of cloth, fighting off his impulse to tears. 'Wouldn't he prefer to hang it tomorrow with my blood in it?', he thought bitterly, handing Edwin the garment. 

His servant looked sadly up at him, his expression commiserate and sensitive. "I honestly don't know what to say to you, my lord, but know that I wish you well." 

With a heavy heart, Thomas smiled, squeezing Edwin's shoulder and nodding. "Thank you, Edwin." Eyes falling to his white and waiting bed, Thomas waved shortly at his servant before he too left. 

The silence that engulfed him was so severe that Thomas felt completely lost for a second. The next person who'd enter through that door would be Christopher. Shivering, he walked up to his bed, the feeling of his bare thighs and brushing skin foreign even to himself. 

Thomas laid back, staring at the ceiling above him, running his fingers over his chest, the nightgown's material coming and going along with his pace. He pulled its hem down, drawing his legs together, afraid his position would prematurely flash Christopher. Head moving to the side, Thomas saw the book he had been reading on his bedside table, sliding a finger over the bookbinding. He thought about reading another of its page, but Christopher could arrive any time now. 

Wondering what he and his father were talking about, Thomas entertained the idea that he was their topic. Was his father telling Christopher about how Thomas was terrible at swordplay? That when he was a kid he had once sneaked into the kitchens to taste the pudding before anyone else? That he was a failure of a son because all he did was read and try to run away from the palace's walls to visit the citadel and watch the live plays at the fairs? 

Thomas' door was opened softly, the Prince startling when the doorknob began to turn. Swallowing dryly, his eyes flicked to his bedside's drawer, where Sarah's flask was safely hidden away. But Christopher's silhouette filled the door frame and all thoughts swam out of his mind. 

Thomas didn't remember his shoulders being that broad, nor his arms being that full, but he figured his current circumstances made him prone to oversizing them. 

Christopher took a cautious step inside, a hand coming to shut the door softly, locking them in silence. 

Thomas was reminded of one of those Roman arenas he had read about, where the Christians would be thrown inside to be eaten by beasts. Except he didn't know which one of them was the beast and which one was to be eaten. 

With the same soft expression he had been wearing throughout their supper, Christopher walked up to the bed with long but slow steps. Thomas couldn't avert his eyes from him, supporting himself on his elbows as not to miss any of his movements. If he looked down he was sure he could see his own chest heaving with his heart's beat, so loud and quick it was. Swallowing nervously, Thomas joined his knees, unwittingly trying to move his body up the bed and away from Christopher, whose dark eyes fixated on Thomas' thighs, the hem of his nightgown ridding up and probably hinting at the nakedness that lay beneath. 

By the time Christopher had reached the end of his mattress, Thomas was almost sat. The warrior looked a little taken aback, guilty for having scared him, and took a seat at the far edge of the mattress, cupping his knees with his hands and giving Thomas a quick look. 

It was clear none of them knew what to say or do to initiate anything. The silence was suffocating, and the thought that Christopher might pounce and have his way with him without them ever speaking to each other alone was scary. 

For a whole minute they remained like that, until Christopher, apparently not holding himself back, lay a warm hand over Thomas' toes, the Prince gasping and quickly flinching away from the touch. Christopher promptly looked down in embarrassment, and Thomas could feel his own cheeks burning. 

"S-Sorry." Thomas murmured, his stomach flipping. He hadn't thought about apologizing before he had already done it. 

Christopher nodded as if he understood, and after licking his lips, found the courage to look into his eyes, his body inclining itself toward Thomas, who could only blink and wait. The warrior reached out again, slowly, clearly giving Thomas the berth he needed if he was to reject the touch. 

Thomas didn't take it, instead he flicked his eyes back to Christopher's before focusing on his foot, where the warrior slid his fingers over, callous and incredibly warm, Thomas' eyes fluttering as they descended the curve of his toe, along the concave space before his heel. In the back of his mind he assimilated that Christopher was impressed by its smoothness. Thomas had never worn rugged boots, so his feet weren't in any form rough or craggy. 

Prompted by the lack of rejection, Christopher's body moved closer, one hand reaching Thomas' shin while the other made sure to support himself over the mattress, his eyes closed. His mouth reached the knobby point of Thomas' knee, the contact of his chapped lips against the Prince's soft skin making Thomas shiver, a whimper escaping before he could stop himself. Startled, Christopher opened his eyes, staring at Thomas in apprehension before he took in his flushed cheeks, the small parting of his lips and the slight decay of his eyelids. 

The heaviness of their gaze and the heat that spread over him had Thomas' cock twitching, the nightgown doing nothing to hinder it. Spurred on, Christopher groaned, anchoring a hand beneath the bend of Thomas' knee, which were still joined, gently attempting to pry them aside. 

Hit by a sudden, cold wave, Thomas stilled. The dark glint on Christopher's eyes hinted at such a looming, deep want that the Prince grew worried about. If he spread his legs now, Christopher would no doubt take him right then; yet, if Thomas was to deter him there was no telling what he could do. Until now, the warrior had been nothing but gentle with him, perhaps hesitant because of his own insecurities, but Christopher could clearly overpower him if he so wanted and Thomas could do anything to stop him from wanting it. 

Under Christopher's growing pressure, Thomas gave in, his joints turning to jelly when the warrior brought both hands to ease his knees apart, his breathing loud and puffy with lust when his eyes found the treasure between Thomas' legs. Pupils dilated, Christopher's eyes were black, fixated on the hang of the Prince's balls, his half-hard cock tenting the nightgown's fabric, the pale line of his perineum before the supple flesh of his cheeks encased his tiny, promising hole. 

Chest bubbling, Thomas stared up at the ceiling, feeling exposed to the brim. Christopher's gaze on him was like a warm blanket, a seeping eye that had him flushing in embarrassment and basking on its glaze. 

Yelping, Thomas fisted the blankets when Christopher threw the lower part of his body up in a quick motion, hands digging into the back of Thomas' thighs before roaming the expanse of his skin, grunting at the feel and dipping beneath his hips to push the hem of his nightgown up. It was so fast that the Prince was left with no reaction, assimilating the actions two seconds after they had already been inflicted upon him. 

Thomas squirmed, giving a soft, protesting whimper when Christopher buried his face between his legs, heat escalating and reaching Thomas' face, desperate. "W-Wait." He murmured, heart ricocheting inside his ribcage when Christopher began to undress himself, tunic discarded without a second thought, the fastenings of his breeches being swiftly untwined until nothing but his smallclothes stood in the way, so incredibly tented that the sight of it had Thomas scurrying up the bed as best as he could for distance. "Christ." 

Christopher panted, blond strands of hair falling forward and on his face, his chest, a wide, bronze expanse of muscles, heaved with each breath. His big hands quickly found purchase on Thomas' thighs again, pulling and bringing him down over the mattress, his grip unrelenting despite Thomas' growing reluctance. The air in the room grew warm, and Christopher looked frenzied to the point of not knowing what to do first. He held Thomas' legs apart with his own, once more pulling the hem of his nightgown until it lay just beneath Thomas' nipples, eyes focusing on the Prince's slim and pale belly. 

Was this what Sarah had meant? Thomas gasped when the warrior bent to lick at his belly button, his belly dipping in sensibility. His hands had gone back to roaming his body, the touch somehow soothing. 

Thomas was careening toward an abyss, not knowing if he should fight his way out or let Christopher's hands wrung out whatever they could from beneath his skin. The latter was the most bothersome possibility for Christopher didn't look like he was in his right mind. Mouth still working over Thomas' belly, a hand took hold of the base of his cock and Thomas cried out, his member filling hotly. But when he felt a rude prod on his entrance, the Prince froze. 

Clenching and trying to close his legs, Thomas whined. Christopher gave up on his prodding, but before Thomas could sigh in relief, the warrior tugged on his smallclothes and the sight of his engorged, hard cock had Thomas trying to push him off. It was huge, like the rest of him, the head full and leaking a sort of fluid that Thomas, virgin and unknowledged on these carnal arts, had no acquaintance with. It surely wouldn't be enough to... The idea had him gaping, a gelid panic spreading through him. 

Christopher sat, pulling the cradle of Thomas' hips down, probably trying to align himself. The Prince screeched though, ungracefully batting his legs beside him, whispering. Christopher frowned, trying to make sense of the words. "No, please, please." Eyes shut, Thomas had his head to the side as if he wanted to avert his gaze at all costs. "You're going to kill me." 

As though coming to his senses, Christopher let go of him, springing up the bed so quickly that Thomas thought he had ceased existing. 

Upon opening his eyes, he found Christopher at the edge of the bed, eyes wide and guilty. "I'm sorry." He said, reaching out before pulling his hand back. "I'm so sorry. I didn't-" He swallowed, looking away. 

Thomas was shaking all over, and keeping a wary eye on Christopher, tried to pull his nightgown down. His throat was closing up and Thomas sighed quietly, thinking about how close the warrior had gotten to... Christopher looked repentant anyhow, but even though a part of Thomas' mind wanted to sympathize with his surely regrettable attitude, he still had the red imprint of hands on him. 

Their erections had flagged considerably, and eyes flicking over Christopher's body, Thomas took his fill of the bulging muscles, scarred with variable sized slits. Thomas had never seen a naked man before, all he had ever known was from quick drawings and figures from books he'd read. None of them had ever portrayed a body such as Christopher's, even less so one with such a proud erection on it. Thomas found it quite attractive. 

"I'm sorry, my Prince." The warrior's voice took Thomas out of his deviations. "I never meant to do that, I swear." He pleaded, eyes flashing an apologetic look, his Adam's apple bobbing. Thomas nodded quietly, still insecure. "I think-" Christopher huffed, looking down and shaking his head. "I think it was that taboco." 

"Tobacco." Thomas corrected, finding his mistake a little endearing and giving a short, lilting laugh. 

Christopher looked up, and they stared at each other in silence. The wind returned to unsettle the shutters, the light flickering. Suddenly, the warrior's face crumpled, brows drawing low and lips tightening. "I'm so sorry." He said again. Thomas gulped, about to accept his apologies once more when Christopher continued. "I fought so hard to have a chance with you, I never thought I'd get it." Breathing cut short, the Prince gaped, ears tingling to hear better. "I'd never do that, I could never ruin you, you're-" Christopher stopped, stapling the flow of words that had flooded past his mouth. "You're-" He regained, looking at Thomas, at his glistening, expectant eyes. His every breath finished with the strain of his muscles, marking the limits of his abdominal muscles with ridged skin. 

I'm what?, Thomas thought, inching closer to listen, heart palpitating in hope. 

"You're perfect." Chris finished in a breath, head hanging embarrassedly. Thomas swallowed his surprise, that pooled at his stomach in a flitting jumble of hope and excitement. His heart unclenched, letting out a myriad of sparks on his blood flow. 

Christopher stood up, his cock hanging half-hard. "Wait." Thomas gasped, unfolding his legs in apprehension when the warrior made for the door. 

"I should go." Was his reply, simple. 

Thomas hesitated, mouth opening and closing before translating his thoughts into words. "But my father-" 

"Your father was wrong to accept my request," Christopher cut him. "He doesn’t see you. He doesn't deserve you as a son and I don’t deserve you as..." He paused, staring at the floor. 

Thomas' heart soared; he had never expected Christopher to feel this way, to see past the incongruous situation they were put through, had never expected him not to celebrate his conquest in favor of mourning the fact that a father would willingly offer his son to another man as repayment for killing in his name. "I'm sorry." Christopher repeated, and Thomas was beginning to loathe those words. 

The Prince smiled. "What for?" But Christopher didn't seem to listen, shaking his head and staring down at himself in mild discomfort. "I'm naked." He said, flatly. 

Thomas snickered. "I can see that." He confessed, and under Christopher's suddenly mirthful gaze, failed to hold back a laughter, his shoulders shaking. The warrior stared, at the crinkling of his eyes, at his rosy lips and perfect, pearly and thin teeth. Blushing, Thomas cupped a hand over his mouth shyly, looking downwards. 

Christopher cleared his throat, still gloriously naked in Thomas' bedchamber. The Prince opened his mouth, "Christopher," He said, gaining the warrior's attention, who appreciated the cadence of his Prince's voice and his breathy accent. "I wouldn't be here-" He bit his lip. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to." 

Thomas glanced up for a reaction, but all he got was Christopher's immutable expression. His blood quickly escalated to his face when the warrior's lips distorted into an hesitant stretch, and Christopher hung his head, tilting it to the side as though repressing himself. "You jest." 

"No." Thomas was quick to deny, his heart beating so rapidly he could feel it in his mouth. A desperate need to belie what were certainly misinterpretations on Christopher's part rose inside him, and Thomas' voice rang with undeniable resolution. "It's no jest. I swear." And when the warrior's gaze met his, he felt enveloped in a loving grip, and gave a coquettish smile. "Do you doubt a Prince's word?" 

Christopher gave no answer, simply shook his head, a playful smile on his lips; such a lovely motion on such a cruel warrior. Thomas stared in silence, something warm and wanting curling inside him and making him boldly imply that he'd very much enjoy Christopher's physical attention on him. It was clear that the warrior thought him bewitched by his father, pressured to give himself to him for no other reason other than duty. And though it was a part of the truth, it was not its total. He couldn't point out exactly what it was, but something had afflicted him, had given him a different view of Christopher, had made him prone to seeing past the unfriendly façade, had made his heart jump at the mere mention of his name. Perhaps it was a different sort of bewitchment, and just the thought that Christopher might also be stuck in this same spell had Thomas' head airy and dizzy, even willing himself to forget about the warrior's previous brute love making. 

"I'd hurt you." Christopher spoke, sad, convinced of his own words. 

Thomas smiled shakily. Was he really going to do that? Yes. "You wouldn't." He replied, licking his lips. 

Christopher huffed. "I almost did. I can't- Next to you I can't control myself and-" He went mute. "What is that?" he asked, brows furrowing, pointing at the flask of oil Thomas had just retrieved from his bedside drawer. 

Face blooming with colour, Thomas shrugged, suddenly shy. He deposited the flask next to him on the mattress, staring at it before giving Christopher a quick glance, the twitching lights casting shadows of his long lashes upon his cheeks. The warrior's mouth fell, but he quickly recuperated himself, standing in his full height and drawing his shoulders back, as if temptation was too great and he needed to stay firm and strong to fight it back. 

Thomas by all means averted his eyes from the warrior's twitching and once again blooming erection, though the raw manifestation of his desire had him feeling something akin to pride. Afraid the warrior would reject it still, Thomas explained himself. "We could try it." He shrugged, feeling foolish when Christopher stared at him with that old, impenetrable face. 

"You have to promise me," he said, Thomas gaping and gulping when he gave a step forward. "That you'll tell me to stop if you don't like it." The warrior finished, and the Prince was nodding in affirmative before he had even concluded his sentence. 

"Yes. I promise." He emboldened, rigidly lying back and reaching for the small flask Sarah had gifted him. 

Incited, Christopher groaned, dick rising slowly and rocking about as he closed the distance between them, coming to a stop at the edge of the bed. Thomas breathed out, looking down at the expanse of his own body that was quickly covered by Christopher's, muscles sliding under his golden skin as he crawled toward him until his warm breath was fanning Thomas' face and their eyes were level. 

Breathing shallowly, Thomas' eyes flitted over Christopher's face, the hard line of his jaw, the deep blue of his irises, his dark eyelashes, the skin he had to have shaved if the red dots that lined his chin were anything to go by. Lips parted, Thomas sighed when the warrior leaned in, feeling chapped lips settling a kiss behind his ear. 

Shivering, Thomas lay his hands atop Christopher's arms, tilting his head to the side slowly, allowing the warrior to continue descending close-mouthed kisses along his throat. Eyes shut, the Prince flinched when Christopher's face came into view once more, his kisses enough to make Thomas' cock twitch and stir in anticipation. An unspoken agreement like a heated flame passed between them. 

With half-lidded eyes, Thomas tilted his chin up, and Christopher leaned in, their lips touching for the first time, soft and short. Smiling shyly, Thomas wrapped his hands on the nape of Christopher's neck, bringing him closer. They kissed again, Thomas' neck arching off the bed while Christopher's arms enveloped him in a hug. It was different, moist and sweet. When the wet muscle of Christopher's tongue came into play, Thomas had no other reaction other than gasping, lips parted to allow the intimate contact. 

Inexperienced, Thomas was excessively conscious of the movement of his lips and tongue, not quite knowing what to do with them until Christopher got a hold of his jaw, his hand calloused and warm, caressing Thomas' flawless skin while regulating the pressure and angle of their kiss, their tongues sliding wetly, the Prince's fingers digging into the blond locks of hair at the base of Christopher's neck. He did taste like vanilla, Tom thought, smiling into the kiss; not so heavily of it, though, the sweet taste faint under an acrid tinge that had to be the tobacco. 

Their hearts raced, Thomas feeling the thud of it against his chest as Christopher heaved him up with both arms, muscles bulging and making Thomas gasp, the warrior letting go of his mouth to continue exploring his throat, settling more steadily atop him. 

Thomas' legs spread to allow him room, thighs resting on Christopher's sides. 

"Yes." The warrior moaned, hands skimming down the length of the Prince's upper body to grab handfuls of his thighs. 

"Ahn-" Thomas gasped, letting his own hands descend over Christopher's back, the tip of pale fingers following the line of his spine, the hills of his vertebrae, the details of muscle tissue moving and heaving under their panted breaths. 

Thomas didn't know when it had happened but the air had become clammy and moist, their body heat increasing and letting out tiny drops of perspiration through every pore. Christopher's hard length rested above his, a point of warmth that moved along to Christopher's laboured breathing and had Thomas throwing his head back, the friction worse when the warrior began grinding their crotches together, his shoulders undulating above Thomas, who watched it all with a hanging mouth. 

Tiny sparks ran through his veins, vibrating in a frenzied ecstasy, forcing Thomas' hips to follow Christopher's, the Prince savouring the impact of their bodies together, the sheets sliding under their combined weight. It was all so erotic, so good and carnal that for a span of seconds Thomas knew for sure that he could give himself like that every day, if only it meant he would feel this good. He tightened his hold on Christopher, not quite knowing what was happening to him. 

"C-Christopher..." He moaned, words slurry as an electric current seized his spine, his whole body going rigid as a flurrying muscle inside him uncoiled in a wave of warmth, his vision going white as it continued, feeling it permeate his skin and soak the material of his nightgown. Thomas could feel his cock twitching, not understanding what was happening, only that he felt really good and sensitive and floating on the hang of white clouds through a summer breeze. 

"Was that your first?" He heard, and on the back of his mind associated the voice to Christopher. 

Thomas felt as though his insides were shaking internally, glad that they were on his bed for his legs felt weak, his joints and muscles loosened. "W-What?" He breathed, deliciously dizzy as his head lolled on the pillow, blinking slowly, his eyelashes wet as he stared at the ceiling in wonderment. 

Christopher gave a soft chuckle from above him, Thomas smiling and humming delightedly, not assimilating the source of the fun but feeling too good to care, his smile stretching wider before he laughed, for a short period because soon enough Christopher ducked to kiss him. 

They parted when a foreign feeling got a hold of Thomas, who innocently looked down at his lap to find his nightgown wet with some sort of thick liquid. His brows pinched adoringly, Christopher watching with a wide grin. 

"What, what is this?" He asked, Christopher's chest rumbling in a deep laugh. 

"Your pleasure, my Prince." 

The furrow in his brows slowly unfurled, but Thomas was still visibly confused. "My pleasure-?" He touched an hesitant fingertip to it, looking up at Christopher slowly as his cheeks grew darker and darker. "Did it come from-?" He paused, lowering his chin in shyness, the orange glow of the torchlights casting a shadow of his aristocratic nose. 

Christopher couldn't help a laugh. "Yes, it did." 

Thomas' mouth hung open, his cheeks and ears adorably pink, gasping and hiding his face behind his hands in mortification, "Oh Lord." 

"It's normal." Christopher added, his laughter subsiding. "It's your seed." 

Thomas shook his head, embarrassed. "I'm sorry." 

Christopher chuckled smartly, and licked his lips before kissing his forehead, lowering his mouth to Thomas' ear and whispering, "Do you want me to clean it, my Prince?" 

Thomas shivered, but looked down at Christopher, face once more marred in confusion. "No, you don't have to-" The warrior drew back to watch him, the precious way he blinked rapidly. "I mean, the maids can wash my clothes, you don't have to-" 

Shaking his head quietly, Christopher set a lingering peck on his lips. "There's another way of cleaning it. I wish I could show you another time but-" He paused, swallowing dryly, averting his gaze as Thomas too felt a slash of loss cutting through his heart. They wouldn't have another time. Christopher exhaled, closing his eyes and opening it some time later, his brows heavy, pupils dilating in an all-consuming black as he steadily stared back at Thomas, who despite his earlier release, couldn't help feeling a spark of arousal. "I can clean you in another way." He stated, the rock-hard length of his manhood poking Thomas' thigh. 

The Prince watched his face silently, eyes wide in curiosity and hesitation before he licked his lips tryingly. "Show me then." He whispered. 

Christopher looked all too pleased to hear that, and with a loud growl that startled Thomas, grabbed the hem of his nightgown and pulled it all the way up, the Prince yelping as he lifted his arms and helped removing the garment. Bunching the material in his big hands, Christopher flung it about the room, his earlier ferocity coming back as he cradled Thomas' shoulders, settling harder kisses over his throat and collarbone, the skin tingling in goosebumps as the Prince let out short moans. 

"Remember," Christopher added in between kisses. "If you don't like it-" He trailed off. 

"Yes." Thomas nodded, eyes shut as Christopher's kisses went farther and farther down his chest, the wet trail of his tongue leaving a path of saliva that cooled Thomas' skin, arching his back minimally and gasping as Christopher dipped it into his belly button. Thomas let out a high-pitched moan, clinking his teeth in self-consciousness afterwards. His legs lay sprawled beside Christopher's body, feeling a twinge of embarrassment as he realised how exposed he was. 

Christopher ran warm hands on his sides, pausing to run a single knuckle over the peaked numb that was Thomas' left nipple. Sucking in a breath, Thomas hummed in appreciation, arms falling beside his head. 

The feel of the warrior's hands cupping his backside was indescribable, how the warmth seeped into his skin, fitting so nicely on the cradle of Christopher's hands, squeezed to the point Thomas found himself unsurprised for carrying his second erection that night. 

Christopher, for his part, sounded quite happy for it, wrapping a hand around its base, uncaring of the way Thomas' breath hitched in his chest, hips bucking. The warrior lay a single kiss on its head, feeling as the Prince tensed beneath him, almost ready to release his seed for the second time. Grinning, he nuzzled the sensitive skin of his balls, lowering his chin and using the another hand he had on his buttock as leverage to tilt his hips up, groaning and folding his legs toward his chest to gain access to that pink and furled hole. He wished he could tell Thomas how much he had dreamt of it, how many times he had imagined how it would feel like, taste like; but he felt tainted for it, undeserving of Thomas' attention for his low birth, for his indecency, for his brutish manners, for his big hands, always smeared with innocent blood he couldn't stop from drawing, innocent flesh he couldn't stop from tearing. 

Thomas was different, he was golden, his skin was pale and soft; he was unreachable, like the angels and cherubim that smiled down at Christopher from the old and peeling paint of the grey chapel he'd visit as a child, peeking up quietly in wonder before being shoved out, for rude farm boys couldn't draw any prayers. Hearing Thomas' moans now, it was nothing short of divine. 

Poking his tongue out, Christopher focused on Thomas, on the brilliant sheen of his skin under the light, the pink and tight hole clenching as Christopher reached out to it, setting a kiss on it, Thomas letting out a gasp that sounded like a sob. Heart fluttering, Christopher tried again, hands drawing his cheeks apart for better access, and soon enough his tongue was fighting its way inside, the flesh there tasting heavily of musk and of the unstainable sweetness of a virgin little hole. 

Groaning, Christopher lapped at it, imagining for how long Thomas kept untouched, how long he had kept this delicious secret from him and from anybody else. 

"C-Chris- ughn- Oh, Christop-" He moaned, like a chant, like the lilted cadence of a minstrel. Christopher wished to have him spilling all over himself again solely from this, but the desire to see him doing it as Christopher finally conquered his virginity outran that, and sadly, he let the fluttering hole go. "Christ..." Thomas panted, and Christopher's erection, having gone a long time unnoticed, sent a painful throb through his body. 

"Where is-" He began, eyes frantically looking around for the small flask, hair in a complete disarray. 

"Here." Thomas mumbled, having got ahold of it meanwhile squirming on the bed sheets. 

Nodding, Christopher accepted the flask as it was handed to him, their eyes locked. He awaited the Prince's approval, which came in the form of a short nod, before uncorking the glass, but it was so small, so fragile in Christopher's hands that it upturned and fell, spilling the fragrant oil all over the sheets. 

"Fuck." Christopher cursed, Thomas flinching at the rude word. He managed to save some of it, though, but more than half of it was lost, the warrior staring up at Thomas with a guilty face. "I'm sorry." He mumbled, Adam's apple bobbing. 

Thomas gaped. "It- It's fine." Sat on his heels, Christopher sighed, shoulders slumping, the hang of his head obscuring his eyes. "It's fine," Thomas repeated, though he figuratively nearly lost his flooring when seeing the oil go to waste, his only guarantee of an approximate painless first time. 

Christopher finally nodded, albeit looking a bit sad. Thomas watched apprehensively as the warrior poured some of the remaining oil on his fingers, his eyes firmly set on Thomas' hole. Biting his lip, the Prince steadied his breathing, looking up at the ceiling meanwhile trying to convince himself that it wouldn't hurt so bad. This was Christopher, this was what he wanted. 

The wet and foreign tip of a finger met his hole, and involuntarily, Thomas clenched, hissing. Christopher made a shushing sound, which on the back of his mind Thomas found adorable. "Try to relax." He whispered, and Thomas nodded, shutting his eyes. 

It was difficult. Christopher tried again, Thomas bearing just the tip of his finger, thinking he had finally made it when his body suddenly clamped around it again. Sighing, the Prince tried to rid himself of his nervousness, exhaling calmly and licking his dry lips. "Sorry." He whispered, feeling as Christopher kissed his knee softly. 

"It's fine." The warrior responded, nuzzling the skin there. 

Thomas smirked quickly. He tried to imagine himself on another situation, as though an actor seeking concentration to enter the next act. 

As a Prince, Thomas had always imagined that his virginity was to be taken off him upon the night of his wedding, and absurdly, he smiled at the idea. Spreading his legs a little bit wider, Thomas opened his eyes by a brief slit, only to catch the luminescence of the room through his eyelids. So this was his marriage bed. This was his new bedchamber, which he would share with his nearly-turned husband, for he and Christopher had married only an hour ago, in a great festivity involving his sisters in soft pink gowns, his father swallowing a ham in a single bite, the servants bowing and throwing rose petals their way while the whole kingdom cheered and blessed their union, to the poorest of craftsmen to the richest of merchants. 

The first finger went in, Christopher sighing in longing, already anticipating the heat and softness of these walls surrounding him. Massaging, Christopher did his best to loosen Thomas' passage, only added a second finger when the Prince had grown accustomed to the first. 

The warrior's erection gave another painful throb and he fisted the bed sheets beside Thomas' hips, hissing through gritted teeth. 

Thomas eyed him coyly, clenching slightly before letting Christopher's finger through. They were thick fingers. Despite his discomfort, the warrior maintained his gaze firmly on Thomas', on his glazed eyes and darkening pupils, sliding one of his own fingertips over his belly as his tight hole stretched slowly. 

On the third finger, Thomas frowned, gulping forcefully as his eyes fluttered, but he managed to relax his walls, the flesh giving out to Christopher's insistent but gentle prodding. The warrior, however, now had his eyes shut, and one look at his nearly purple erection was enough to confirm Thomas' suspicion. His own erection lay on his belly, red and waiting. The thought of experiencing that white peak again gave him courage, and Thomas panted as Christopher's fingers continued on stretching him, the burn subsiding and giving way to a pleasure Thomas wasn't aware existed, like the pull of a string sleeping dormant inside of him. 

"Christopher-" He breathed, reaching down to caress Christopher's wrist, his fingers embedded deep inside him. "Christopher." 

The warrior was far from deaf, and hurriedly pulled his fingers out, moving on such a speed Thomas had problems following. The rest of their oil was used to coat Christopher's cock, covering it in a glistening layer that Thomas found even pretty, accepting Christopher's weight between his legs effortlessly. 

Christopher positioned himself, being careful to bend Thomas' legs once more. When the head found the oiled end of Thomas' entrance, he drew in a breath, finally resting his body atop Thomas' again, noses touching. He voiced no question, but Thomas nodded nonetheless, reading his eyes. 

"Oh Lord," Thomas whispering, shutting his eyes quickly, his hole clamping on the tip of Christopher's cock. Their breaths were warm and mingled, Thomas keeping a steady grip on Christopher's shoulders for support and guiding. He tensed again when the warrior went for the second, trying push. 

Making a shushing sound, Christopher fought one of his most difficult battles, just waddling on the flimsy edge of desire, dying to push inside with all his might. 

Thomas relaxed again, but before going for another thrust, Christopher reached for his erection, the Prince throwing his head back in pleasure. Stroking him, Christopher thumbed the head and thrust, hissing when the head went in. 

They continued like this, Christopher bending to mouth at Thomas' pink nipples until the Prince was whimpering, sweat sprouting on his forehead and moistening his lovely curls. He began accompanying Christopher's pace, tilting his hips up for another push, eyes intent as their stared at one another, Thomas giving a short laugh in between gasps. "We're doing it." He said, amazed. 

"Yes, yes, yes." Christopher confirmed, the pleasure searing hot. Thomas felt amazing, like velvet, soft and warm like home. And now Christopher had him, now he was his. 

Elated, Christopher pushed, Thomas huffing out a breath before looking down between them, cheeks reddening. "Oh, Lord-!" He gasped. "There's still- I thought it was all-" He trailed off, brows pinching. 

Christopher hummed, biting his bottom lip forcefully. "No, there's only half of it- Half of it." Panting, he thrust in again, Thomas yelping beside his ear. Christopher couldn't believe it, it was him, Thomas, finally. 

When he was all the way inside, they paused, Thomas needing a minute to adjust to it all, belly rising and falling beneath his ribs. He was thin, different from some nobles Christopher knew. Still, he was more beautiful than all of them, more beautiful than anyone. 

Upon Thomas' nod, Christopher drew his hips back, maintaining only the head inside before pushing all the way in, receiving a long moan as praise. It wasn't difficult to find a pace, Thomas' heat drawing him in, wanting to stay embedded in it for as long as possible. 

"Chr-Christopher-!" Thomas kept moaning, eyes shut in bliss. On a particular hard thrust, he tensed, and Christopher thought he had gone too far again before he took a look at Thomas' face, mouth agape and eyes wide, mewling so languorously it had Christopher thrusting in renewed vigour. 

This felt so good, Thomas was amazed. He could think about nothing else, even his fantasy had crumpled, completely forgotten. All that mattered was Christopher above him, and the wet slide of his cock inside him, sometimes finding a spot that almost had him reaching that bursting warmth again. 

He reached it again, hips thrusting forward and emitting that erotic sound again. Thomas couldn't escape it, drawing two lungfuls of air before tightening all over and spilling that hot and thick cream, which fell on his chest, drops of it landing on the underside of his chin. 

Christopher looked elated, watching it with glazed eyes. He paused on his thrusts for only enough time until Thomas was breathing again, biting his lip which had grown deeply red and giving powerful thrusts that shook Thomas' body, had him rocking until his head was almost knocking against the headboard. Oversensitized, Thomas held on as best as he could, feeling the creeping and slow burn coming back. Christopher seemed to sense his discomfort, and began thrusting on a slower pace but going deeper than before. And upon casting his eyes over Thomas again, Christopher pulled out, keeping a firm and unwavering gaze on the pink and stretched hole while fisting his cock in quick speed, Thomas watching it all in amazement and after-glow, feeling slightly embarrassed when Christopher spilled, grunting as copious strings of white fell on the bed sheets. 

Panting heavily, the warrior fell on his back beside Thomas, a hand on his chest as he stared up at the ceiling. The Prince cast him a curious glance, watching the definition of his muscles, the golden skin wet with sweat. 

Their breathing went back to normal, and when their seeking eyes happened to meet, Thomas felt a consuming desire to hide his face. 

Christopher sat and Thomas panicked. He really had no idea that he'd leave so soon, and suddenly cringed, feeling empty and betrayed. Christopher had just taken his virginity. The thought assaulted him, and though it sent pleased shivers through him, it also made him stagger on his precipitated glee, detesting the growing suspicion that Christopher was about to go way. 

"W-Wait." He mumbled, trying to sit up when Christopher rose from the bed. The warrior bent to retrieve something from the floor, and Thomas' heart shrunk. "No-" He pleaded, raising a hand to stop him when Christopher stood with his nightgown in hand. He came to a stop at the edge of the bed, staring at Thomas curiously before sitting on it again, Thomas letting out a relieved breath. 

Christopher leaned toward him and Thomas understood, lying back and giving him the space he needed to clean the cooling seed from his chest. When finished, he bundled the nightgown again, but looked embarrassed to throw it at the floor like he had done before, and with a meek face, set it as neatly as he could on Thomas' bedside table, his big hands working to settle the material that kept trying to fall off. 

Thomas smiled, reaching out to help him. The crumpled nightgown finally stayed still, and Christopher remained beside it, the whole expanse of him, casting Thomas a quick glance before looking down. 

Thomas stood, and Christopher flinched, giving a step back as though afraid to look like he wanted to stay. The Prince, however, pulled the sheet from the bed, for it had caught most of the fluids, and threw it at the floor next to Christopher's discarded clothes. Looking over his shoulder, he sat back on the bed, the sheet underneath cleaner. "Come." He said, bravely, settling on one side of the bed and looking up at Christopher. 

The warrior looked a little confused, and feeling like he was about to refuse, Thomas cut in. "We can share." That seemed to appease Christopher, who smiled, and went to lie beside Thomas, but not before extinguishing the lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously don't know if the story will have 4 chapters because everything that falls at my hands turns into a novel x.x
> 
> Most importantly, thank you all for reading and keeping up! :DDDD


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is embarrassing. I truly don't know why it took me so long to update this. I'm so absurdly sorry.

Thomas woke slowly, eyelids pulled down with the heavy laziness that settled. He tensed, and his body responded, oddly sore in ways and places he wasn't accustomed to. Frowning, he blinked his eyes open, and the events of the previous night slowly returned to his mind, making him gasp and fist his sheets closer to his chest. His heart felt fluttery and liquid, and Thomas sighed. 

He opened his eyes and stared at his bedchamber, a thin stripe of bright sunlight falling over his study table. His innards went gelid when the sudden fear that Christopher had already left gripped him. 

"Are you awake?" 

Thomas startled, turning around with a gasp. Christopher lay beside him, leaning against the headboard, the linen sheets hiding his manhood from sight. Thomas blinked in astonishment, mouth parted before he smiled in delight, "Good morning." 

Christopher grinned, "Morning." They remained in silence, watching the other with intent eyes. Christopher cleared his throat, and Thomas tilted his head up to hear. "Pardon me, my Prince, I didn't know how to leave..." 

After such intimate occurrences between them, the impersonal respect of Thomas' tittle sounded saddening to his ears, and Thomas blinked, suddenly assailed by the thought of watching Christopher's departure. If he considered it, the possibilities of finding the warrior still in his bedchamber by morning were slim, but Thomas in no way would let this stroke of good fortune slip, and neither was he fazed by it. "Oh, please, there's no need to leave so soon, you can stay a while longer." Christopher smiled, albeit uncomfortably, and Thomas licked his lips, thinking in another alternative. "My father's wish is to please you, I'm certain he won't deny you a few spare minutes in my presence." 

There seemed to be nothing the warrior felt like adding, neither to question nor to abide by it, and he remained stonily in place, as if sudden movement would make time run faster. Thomas took a minute to watch him. The warrior looked out of place inside Thomas' bedchamber, of the size of a furniture. He rested placidly against the headboard, his chest an expansion of muscles that attracted Thomas' gaze, a warm tingle settling near his heart when thinking that much of a man had claimed his virginity, and now belonged, in a way, to Thomas as well. 

Thomas curled a hand around his own neck, blushing when remembering last night, lovingly portraying every detail in his mind's eye. Christopher had entailed he had feelings for Thomas, feelings of the same kind as those that sprouted on the Prince. Thomas couldn't think to believe that it was a lie, and wouldn't jump to the conclusion that Christopher's current lack of words or affectionate gestures - or even his intention of leaving without waiting for Thomas to be awake - were a tip to it. Still, in Thomas' position of freshly deflowered Prince that a had a lot to lose, there was much he'd need to doubt from now on. 

"Christopher, when you said, last night," Thomas paused while Christopher turned to him, "That I was... Perfect." Thomas flushed, pulling the sheets closer to his sternum. He lifted his eyes to Christopher, "You meant it?" He felt silly for asking it now, but Thomas needed to know if they stood in equal ground or if it was only him, the fool, that let himself be led by his own illusions of retribution. "Or you said it just-" 

"No," Christopher said, quickly, and Thomas' eyes widened for an instant before Christopher hesitantly reached out to cup his cheek. "No. I would never. Never lie to you or say it only to-" He shrugged one shoulder and a string of comprehension traveled between them. It would have been much easier to bend Thomas to his will if he said the right words, but Christopher denied it so vehemently, and his words and touches were so benign in their intent that Thomas understood it. To find that his words today, when he had nothing else to gain from Thomas, were the same as yesterday's only solidified Thomas' trust on him, and he wholeheartedly realized that this was indeed real. 

Thomas smiled, widely, wrapping his fingers around Christopher's wrist. "Therefore, when you asked for this to happen..." 

Christopher nodded, willing Thomas to continue though he trailed off. "I have always longed for you, my Prince." 

Thomas' eyes flitted over Christopher's features, the pinch between his brows, the way his body was turned towards Thomas, how his attention and devotion were completely physical. "And I, for you, my warrior." Thomas said, smiling largely and seeing his peace of mind reflected in Christopher, who slowly bent and let their foreheads touch. 

Their breaths were warm, Christopher's palm so big, resting against Thomas's neck to keep him there. Thomas could feel the callouses on it, trailing his own fingers softly over Christopher's wrist until reaching his knuckles, running his fingertips over the path of veins and strong bones, the powerful thrum beneath his skin that only the invincible possessed. Thomas let out a sigh in contentment, eyes hooded, thin lips stretching in a small smile before he felt Christopher's against his. Languidly, Thomas rested against his pillow, letting the bulk of Christopher's upper body tilt his while they kissed, slowly, tentatively, a simple press of lips. 

When Christopher pulled away slightly, Thomas thought he was about to plunge harder, but the warrior only nuzzled into his neck and spoke. "It was four summers ago that the King started recruiting soldiers for his army," Thomas blinked, softly licking his lips as Christopher continued, eyes shut, breath fogging over Thomas' lips. "Me and my family, we were farmers. Luke was the eldest, but he was about to marry this nice girl from the village, Liam was too young and father too weak," Christopher ran a palm down the curve of Thomas's neck, admiring the pale and soft skin there, shining in pale golden from the sun's light. "I said I'd go. I was used to killing the pigs and chicken. I thought humans would be just the same." 

The words make Thomas cringe, a crease appearing on his brow, eyes commiserate, flitting over Christopher's face. 

"It wasn't," Christopher murmured, and because Thomas looked uncomfortable and sympathetic for his pain, leaned to place a kiss on his lips, revelling in the softness, the gentleness, wishing to engrave in his mind that those were actually Thomas' lips touching his. "But I- I did well." Christopher swallows, and the corner of Thomas' lips quirk a little, reaching to grip Christopher's wrist in smooth fingers. "Your father called the best warriors to the palace, to congratulate us," Christopher continued. "I was among them." 

"I remember," Thomas smiles with a sheepish tug of his lips, a fingertip swiping up and down the vein on the inside of Christopher's wrist. "That was when I first saw you." 

"And that was when I first saw you too," Christopher whispers, only to listen to Thomas' delighted, breathy laughter, teeth poking from between his red lips. They lean to kiss again, Christopher's arm enveloping Thomas' ribcage, his thin and soft body next to the canvas of scars that was Christopher's. 

Thomas takes the initiative to press small, shy brushes of lips against Christopher's jaw and neck, and Christopher watches the smooth skin of Thomas's shoulder. It's not lost to him that they wouldn't have met if Christopher hadn't come out as one of the best warriors in the Crown's army. Which meant he was responsible for one of the greatest numbers of deaths. He wonders about the limit between killing and loving, knowing he was always looking up to exceeding himself so he could once again look at the third Prince's angelic face, sat so distantly in his small throne, but closer than Christopher could've ever imagined they would ever be. It was the way of things, he knew such. Love paid in blood. 

There came a knock on the door, and both stilled. Silence, another knock and Christopher made to get up. 

"No," Thomas flinched, a hand coming to take Christopher's wrist. He gulped, looked embarrassed, blue eyes pleading. As though Christopher could simply refuse to leave ever again. 

"My Prince-" 

"Thomas. Call me Thomas," the Prince pleaded. 

Such a sweet name for such a sweet, gentle boy. "Thomas," Christopher said, valiantly. Thomas smiled, but became nervous when another knock resounded. Lifting himself on his elbows, Thomas took Christopher's face between his soft fingers. 

"I will never forget you," he said, hastily. Christopher's heart ached, a painful tug like that of a fist closing around it. It couldn't be that this would be the only time. No, he would do anything, anything to have Thomas again. He would kill a whole nation if he had do. But before Christopher could say that out loud, Thomas continued, frantically pulling their foreheads together. "Christopher, listen, I- You're my father's most prized warrior, he would be nothing without you." 

Christopher frowned, gently cupping Thomas's elbows in his hands. "My Prince, there's-" 

"No, listen," Thomas glanced at the door. He could still hear Elizabeth's words in his mind: _you don't know his power_. She was usually better in politics, way better. She couldn't be wrong on this. Thomas had to believe her, had to use the only true, intelligent analysis she had provided him with unknowingly: the king would do anything for Christopher's continued support. Christopher was too humble to ask for what he wanted, or else they could have met earlier, but perhaps if he dared now... Thomas's father would have to agree. "Court me." 

"What?" The way Christopher said it almost had Thomas wavering. As though it was an impossible deed. 

"Christopher, my father needs you. He wouldn't deny it, and after last night-" Thomas sighed. "He won't afford to marry me off now. I'll become a burden. But he can use me to keep you," he was making this up right now, was hastily trying to think like his father. 

"Marry you?" Christopher's eyes hardened, hands tightening around Thomas's elbows. "To whom? No, no, I'll kill them." 

Thomas shook his head. They had little time. "I don't know, I don't know what he's planning to do." It is true. His father must have something up his sleeve, and Thomas feels like chastising himself for only entertaining this possibility now. He had some use for Thomas yet. "But you have him in your hands, Christopher. If you ask his permission to court me- this might be our only chance." 

Christopher's eyes flitted, trying to make sense of Thomas's words. Another knock came and Thomas jumped. "My lord?" Came a hesitant, fearful voice. Edwin. 

"Yes, Edwin," Thomas called back. "I'll only be a minute." Turning back to Christopher, Thomas brought their lips together. 

Christopher wrapped him in his arms like this was truly the last time they ever saw each other, kissing back with a ferocity that had Thomas dizzy. 

"My lord, is the warrior in there?" 

Thomas drew back from the kiss, panting slightly. "Yes, yes, a minute, please, Edwin." 

"Thomas, I don't-" 

Thomas hushed him. "Do you trust me?" He asks, sitting on his heels and holding Christopher back when the warrior leaned to kiss him again. "Do you trust me when I tell you that I want to see you again and that I loved last night?" 

Christopher huffed, his face breaking into a sizeable smile. "Yes, I do, I loved it as well. Every minute," he took Thomas's hands in his, kissing his knuckles in soft reverence. 

Thomas snickered. "Christopher, please, do it for me. For us," He paused, tilting Christopher's face up to assess him. "Will you? You just have to ask him. And then we can..." 

Christopher nodded, nostrils flaring with intent. His chest filled with air, and he seemed to expand, eyes fiery. Thomas knew then that he would do it. 

Edwin knocked again, and Thomas wanted to growl. Instead, he gave Christopher a last kiss, hurrying to keep track of him, of his body and his face and the way he retrieved his clothes almost ashamedly, trying to pull them on without letting Thomas out of his sights. 

"I'll see you again, my Prince," he said, kneeling before Thomas on the foot of the bed once fully dressed. His eyes were mirthful now, amused. Thomas smiled back, holding the sheets against his chest as Christopher retreated backwards, eyes fixed on Thomas waiting for him: a sight he would never forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the end was a little hurried, I needed to get this off my system or it would take more time to update.


	5. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, sorry for the long wait!

Something crunches under Christopher's boots, a sickening crack that he feels more than hears. The warrior doesn't spare it a second. Fallen at his feet, thrown and bloody are the bodies of his victims. The inhuman angles of bones and joints long broken, the pale flesh of cheeks and soft bellies the favoured wound areas. They stick together in a unity though every death is of its own, a cacophony of mourns and the jubilant crows of death-seeking birds, gliding in circles under the hot sun and above the rigid spears that protrude from the bodies like flowers to the soil. Blood clots and the smell of it feels unique in the air. 

Christopher can hear the clang of metals not so far away, weapons being drawn or sheathed once again. The army is preparing to leave the battlefield because far up ahead a new flag is centred, white and red and carrying the Crown's crest. 

Nobody ever wanted to come spare the deeply wounded, and Christopher thought it an action befitting a free entrance to Hell more than performing a killing blow could ever do. War they had no choice but to make, obey the King they had to, but extending the same compassion of thought to the enemy side was the least they could do. 

Christopher climbs a steep carefully, trudging boots over armour-covered ribs and sweat-drenched, cold faces. They move and roll down out of their own weight under Christopher's disturbance. His thighs ache, but Christopher makes an effort out of reaching the flat top, where only the immovable figure of a soldier fallen on its right arm awaits. The man can't be younger than Christopher himself, and his shaky breaths rattle the split armour over his chest. His wound looks deep, incurable, a matter of waiting for enough blood to seep out until he can pass. He lays his head at Christopher's feet, dry lips opening and eyes bulging when he seems to come to that same conclusion himself. 

The grip Christopher has on his spear tightens, he considers the man's figure, the pleading in his eyes. His agony Christopher knows very well: of waiting. Unlike Christopher, however, this man's bond to his pain can be cut, a simple blade to the throat, perhaps something less bloody. The crack of a neck. 

Christopher draws his spear for a moment, aiming for the heart. He hesitates. The man's face is the same, and it takes longer than usual for Christopher to realize that his life had already drained out of him. Instead of pacifying, this outcome only revolts him. Not even this he can have, not even this fate he can decide. Not his nor anyone else's. 

The spear flies from his hand. Christopher doesn't know what he was aiming at, only watches the arc it makes in the air, the metal glinting under the fading sunlight until it sinks into the ankle of a body up ahead. 

He watches the orange light of the horizon, hears the powerful encounter of waves against a sharp coast in the distance. He had never been this close to the sea without having no desire to see it. 

"Sir!" A rough voice calls from the bottom of the steep. Christopher turns towards it to find one of his men, whose eyes look frightened upon catching sight of Christopher's face, no doubt marred with a deep frown. "Sir, the night is falling," he shuffles from feet to feet, takes a nervous look back over his shoulder, where the army is still disassembled, resting and clamouring their victory. "We should set camp not far from here," when this doesn't seem to get a reaction out of Christopher, the man continues. "We must make haste. Before the animals come to claim their food," this time he takes another, nervous and fearful glance, but at the treetops far up north. Some still believed in the old folks of the dark forest and the shady creatures that inhabited it, spectres and ghouls, all sort of dark witchcrafts. Christopher knew it to be nothing more than scary bed time stories his mother sometimes told he and his brothers to prevent them from wandering the farm at night. But he wouldn't put his men through the torment of facing shady and unknown enemies when they could return to safer paths. 

"I'm on my way. Tell the men to gather as many weapons and provisions as they can," Christopher responds, but doesn't make a move to unlock his hands from his back and his gaze from the landscape. 

"Certainly," the other warrior says lowly, and the noise of leather and metal alerts Christopher to his departure. 

The wind picks up, and with it the locks of hair that now fall on his shoulders sweeps over his face. Christopher feels immense, resisting the sudden cold with bare arms, a chest plate that tightens his ribs, blood and dirt caked on his hands and under his nails. He wants to rest, but knows he can't. He wants hot water and a banquet like the one he was served in the castle, with the same company. He wants home, but home is far and not the same anymore. In the end, Christopher wants what he had always wanted: what he can't have. 

If Christopher is correct in his calculations, more than a year has passed since he last saw the face of Prince Thomas. 

 

~*~ 

 

"Four, five, and there you go," Emma announces, leaning back to admire her handiwork. She smiles proudly. "You, Prince Thomas, are now the most beautiful Prince of this land," she giggles. 

"Is that true?" Thomas reaches for the flowers his sister has woven into his curls. He fears he looks ridiculous now, but indulges her a little longer. "Even more beautiful than Prince Robert?" 

"Oh, certainly," Emma laughs. "Prince Robert is not as radiant as you." 

Thomas smirks in response, his gaze returning to their surroundings. It was a remarkably sunny day at the castle, and Emma had called for tea at the gardens. "Not to enjoy the day outside would be a terrible waste, brother," she had said, grabbing onto his wrist to try to pull him to his feet, to leave the bedchambers of which he had barely set foot out for such a long time now. 

"Though," Emma murmurs, tipping his chin softly with a finger. "You're not as radiant as you used to be, brother." 

Thomas avoids her eyes, instead looking down at his tunic and pretending he can't see how attentively his sister now perceives him. 

"Do you really love him?" She asks, so quietly that Thomas wouldn't hear it if they weren't sat so close to each other. Thomas gives a sad smile after slow consideration. He wished he had spent more time with Christopher to let their love develop. After one year apart he still feels an acute fondness to the warrior, knows he's never felt it for anyone else and knows perhaps he won't. Ever again. Because in this world Christopher and his sisters were the only kindness he knew, the genuine one, the sort that sprouted for no reason and was given freely. 

"Thomas!" 

Emma and her brother turned around, seeing Sarah walking towards them, skirts flapping as she hurried their way. "Thomas," she gasped when approaching, and Thomas got to his feet. 

"Sarah," he pulled the flowers from his hair, "What's the matter?" 

"You-" she paused, "Father and Elizabeth. They were talking," her chest jumped with every breath she took. Thomas could only watch and hear with slowly growing curiosity and fear. Sarah took swift looks at their surroundings. "I overheard them," she said in a low tone. 

Thomas nodded his head, not knowing if he wanted to encourage her talking or cease it completely. Emma, agitated and worried, pleaded Sarah to sit down with them, and after taking small sips from her cup, Sarah rested it on the saucer, pressing her fingers together on her lap. 

"They were discussing you, Thomas," said Sarah, taking in slow, measured breaths to prevent another nervous bout. Thomas didn't know how to behave in front of such information. He knew his father and his stepsister must discuss his situation very often; the results of their concoction he didn't want to know though, as they always seemed to go against his own preconceived future for himself. 

"Oh, Sarah," he took his own cup in his hands, letting the familiar taste of his favoured tea calm him. "You needn't worry about it." 

Sarah shook her head adamantly, staring at Thomas with intent, as though she wished to transmit what she wanted to say without voicing it. And perhaps they were such dreadful news that she felt she couldn't voice it. This thought makes Thomas cringe, makes him drop his cup with a rattle instead of his usual delicacy. 

"Brother," Sarah reached for his hand. "You have to listen," she took another look around, squinting at the lake's edge and at the distant walls of the castle. "Father is worried about the war's outcome." 

Thomas felt cold. "The war?" He pulled his hand away from Sarah's. "How so?" 

Since his father's denial of their courtship more than one year ago Christopher had been immediately sent to lead the army at the farthest site possible, leaving Thomas in despair. Although he knew Christopher was a way too valuable asset to his father's army to be discarded for the impertinence of asking to court a Prince, though Thomas doubted that was really the case, he still feared his father and Elizabeth would find a way to sever their connection. As always, the King's mind and ways were shady to Thomas. Perhaps he would have more to gain by preventing Christopher's attachment to Thomas. If his plan was to give Thomas away in marriage, a public courtship between the two of them could get in the way. 

"Apparently one of our spies got word of some of the enemies' plans." Thomas hates the way Sarah looks at him right now: wide-eyed and hesitant. "They're sending two thousand warriors by ship. They're to disembark at the coast." 

"The coast?" Thomas fears he now understands Sarah's fear. 

Sarah nods, glances at her lap where her hands are still wrought together. "The coast where Christopher's army is at." 

It's sudden and completely shocking the way Thomas can feel the blood draining from his face. Emma makes a soft noise that he can't interpret, a whimper. "Does Christopher know that?" 

"I'm afraid he doesn't," Sarah shakes her head. "And even though the information were to get there... Thomas, listen to me. Christopher is clever. He's always been prepared, otherwise he wouldn't have won-" 

Thomas looks away, finds his vision to be blurry all of a sudden. It's not unnatural for two armies to meet at a war, that was rather the point. But Christopher had no idea of this seemingly surprise attack. How many men of his were left? Could they be in shape to fight off two thousand warriors? 

Thomas felt the tea creeping up his throat, a shiver running up his body. Sarah's grasp on his hand returned. 

"Thomas," she shook her head, eyes complacent. Since their father's offering of Thomas to Christopher his sister had behaved like his own personal Prince Guard, going as far as pulling Thomas away from the gates one night when he had planned to sneak away from the castle to send a clandestine message to Christopher. Something in Sarah had always been about taking other people's problems as her own, which Thomas admired but other times pitied: she wanted to suffer his suffering for him, and didn't understand that it was too much to bear, that Thomas himself didn't know how he was still doing it. "Be reasonable," she continued. 

Thomas pressed his lips together. The last thing he could use now was reason, and how could he when his prospects for the future were all so miserable? He'd hoped once, endeavoured the thought that even though he and Christopher were to be apart forever, to know that Christopher was alive and safe somewhere else far from him would be enough. Now, he couldn't even have that. If Christopher were to die in this war and Thomas were forced to marry some old noble alliance of his father's he didn't know what he would become other than a cold, empty body. 

"Why are you telling me this?" Asked Thomas, once more pulling his hand away from Sarah's. "Knowing what father and Elizabeth talk about brings me no respite." 

Sarah searched his eyes, looked back at Emma as though their younger sister could somehow say something in her defence. She didn't look happy to hear the news either. "Thomas, there's more," Sarah insisted. Thomas watched her carefully, a pinch between his brows and eyes red. He turned away when she reached for his shoulders. "Father was talking about marrying you-" 

"No," Thomas stood up. His heart clenched inside his chest. This he couldn't bear to hear. 

Sarah stood along with him, grasping his elbow in both her hands. 

"Sarah, let him-" Emma pleaded. 

"But Elizabeth changed his mind," Sarah said, hastily, before Thomas could send her another vile look and let himself free. 

What followed was silence, only the swish of leaves around them and the breeze's whistle. Sarah smiled victoriously. 

"Elizabeth?" Thomas asked, cautiously, taking his seat back. Sarah followed suit. "It doesn't make sense," he said, slowly analysing the surface of his teacup. "Elizabeth convinced father to deny Christopher the courtship. I know that." Thomas glanced up at his sister. Sarah seemed ignorant as to what any of that could signify, instead she looked delighted, dimples appearing on her pale cheeks when she smiled. 

"It doesn't matter what she's done in the past, Thomas. Father had every intention of marrying you to Lord Gilbert," Thomas scrunched his nose, "but Elizabeth intervened. She gave him a much, much better idea," Sarah smiled, the face of triumph. 

Something didn't sit right with Thomas. "Where's Elizabeth?" 

"I saw her leaving some time after her meeting with father," Sarah waved the information off. 

"Leaving?" Thomas frowned. "Where to?" 

"It doesn't matter, Thomas," Sarah pressed his side next to hers. Even Emma looked excited to hear what she was about to say next. "She's made a brilliant plan." 

 

~*~ 

 

The waters lolled heavily against the shore, oily and gray. Despite the weather, cloudy and apathic, the sea was mostly calm, and it had been this way as far as Christopher could remember. Their last encounter with any enemy troops had been almost a month ago and the suspicious peaceful environment unnerved him though his men seemed to be taking victory for granted, or as a simple matter of time. 

Admittedly, there wasn't much that could be done. Christopher awaited for any orders from the castle to move his men. Remaining in a single spot for too much time left him anxious, though he knew how complicated the roads were in times of war. 

Christopher returns to the barracks. There's a wild boar being roasted at the centre, the fat dripping and hissing in the fire, wafting out a fantastic smell. Already his men crowded around it, sending respectful nods his way. An officer accompanies him to his lodge, inquiring in uncertain terms as to their whereabouts and their likeliness of leaving the coast. 

"Not so soon," Christopher responds, "We still haven't received any orders from His Majesty-" 

Christopher turned at the sound of horse shoes approaching. The designated sentinel appeared from the path leading to the camp's perimeter and urged his horse to a halt beside them, his face sweaty under the helmet. Christopher waited for his message, urgent as it seemed to be. 

The soldier dismounted, looking uncertainly at Christopher's companion. Straightening his shoulders, Christopher dismissed the officer, who nodded and did not leave until taking several curious glances at them. Christopher waited until he was out of hearing range. 

"I trust you've got news from the King," said Christopher, analysing as the guard shook his head apprehensively. 

"I'm afraid not, sir. But a carriage was seen in the premises." 

Christopher frowned heavily, alarm sounding on his ears as he took big steps towards the place the guard had come from. There was a nice clearing a few feet ahead, where the closest road to their camp was fairly visible. "A carriage? Headed this way?" 

Christopher had chosen the spot for being closest to the trading roads. They had a nice view of the coast should any of the invaders come, protection from the eyes of the passing people and good observance of the roads should any enemy messengers or spies head to the port to send out information on their forces. It was unlikely that any common person would seek to take these routes under normal circumstances. So who, in god's name, would prance around in a carriage around these parts? Their location was unknown to any save the King himself. 

"Yes, sir," the guard responded, his Adam's apple bobbing once Christopher turned abruptly to him. 

"And you intercepted it, I pray?" 

The guard licked his lips. "It wasn't necessary, sir. The carriage held the Crown's crest." 

If Christopher were a lesser man his shock might've made him take a step back. As it was, his reaction was to stare at the guard, who must've taken it as a bad sign, face paling under Christopher's eyes. 

Christopher's behaviour was astounding to himself. He simply didn't know that hearing such news would make something in him suddenly wish that Thomas had come to see him. But why would he? The King had denied Christopher's attention to be directed at his son, had sent him away to lead his army. But no one other than a royal would travel long distances in a carriage carrying the Crown's crest. Christopher came to the conclusion that the King had come to speak to him personally. What news warranted such reaction from a spoiled old King were beyond him. 

"The King wishes for a private meeting with me?" Christopher asked the guard, who for the second time shook his head. 

"Not the King, sir." Christopher stilled, heart thudding, hearing his own blood rushing in his ears. 

"Not the King?" He repeated, it falling less like a question and more like a statement. 

Thomas. No. How could he have come all this way? In a war, no less. He couldn't imagine that Thomas would ever be able to sneak from the castle. 

"I was ordered to take you to them, sir," the guard continued, gaze on the grass where Christopher's feet were at. He glanced up fearfully. "And I was ordered to do it privately. The King hasn't allowed his children out of the castle and-" the man cut himself short, a flush rising to his ears as he realised he'd said something he shouldn't. 

Christopher's heart beat at a furious pace. One of the King's children was in that carriage, out of their father's command. "Lead the way." 

 

~*~ 

 

In a clearing by the road the carriage awaited. Two horses had their reins wrapped around a tree, visibly tired but munching on the sparse grass after a long trip. Sitting by them, two guards who were probably their riders looked up when Christopher's figure appeared from amidst the tall vegetation. They stood on their feet and nodded his way, clearly not knowing if they should bow given his rank. Christopher nodded in response, feeling as the guard that had led him here remained where he was, a good distance away from the carriage. The horse riders, heavily armoured and certainly belonging to the Royal guard, followed his example and took some steps away as Christopher moved forward to the door. 

A maidservant well past her young years opened it, taking the steps down and exiting the carriage. She held the door open for him and Christopher looked at the tiny space inside, the scarce light not allowing him any discernment of the figure sat inside, hidden in shadows. 

Taking in a breath for courage, Christopher took the first step, felt as the carriage destabilized with his weight but remained on its four wheels. Christopher hunched his shoulders to go through the door, feeling like a giant inside such a small space. He immediately flung himself to the opposite side of the figure, whose hood was pulled over their face. 

Any hope that this was indeed Thomas died when Christopher saw the small smirk playing on the lips visible under the hood, the curves of a cleavage and the sharp command that had the handmaid closing the door. Elizabeth slipped the hood back from her face when they were alone, pulling the curtains aside so that the small window now framed the sight of the hidden road, light pouring in. 

Christopher recognized her better. She was dressed in simpler clothes than the ones he'd seen her in before in the castle: a fine, pale blue gown that fell unremarkably around her frame, a simple gold band as a necklace barely touching her collar. Her silver-blond hair was tied in a low bun, but her status made itself known in the fine circlet adorning her head, gray, cold eyes piercing Christopher appraisingly. 

"Christopher, I hope I've found you well," she said, voice low inside the small, shared space. 

"My Princess," he nodded, as bowing was impossible and unwanted from his part. "I don't know why I'm given the honour of your company." It was a heartless statement and Christopher imagined Elizabeth felt it as such. He respected her in all manners that were necessary, but it truly escaped the warrior the reasons why the eldest Princess would choose to sneak from the castle to speak to him privately in the army's camp. Such odd circumstances couldn't mean anything good, and Christopher was always wary. 

Elizabeth's lips quirked in a smile, and she studied him for a moment. "I was hoping we could hold a conversation for a while. Being in this long forgotten place for such a long time has perhaps made you lonely." 

Christopher's eyebrows rose, and he was made to notice that the Princess must be aware of the army's movements if she knew their location and for how long they were being made to wait here. He felt his face hardening. Elizabeth smiled. 

"It's good to see you're unharmed," she continued, gaze flicking to Christopher's armour. He still wore his breastplate everyday though he usually forgone the coat of arms. It made him feel stuffy, caged. But the armour provided he was ready for battle any time should it come, and he demanded the same care out of his men as well. "Your messages take a long time to get to our castle, as I'm sure you know by now. Me and my father were worried about your health. You haven't been corresponding lately." 

"The enemies we've found so far weren't enough to cause me any harm," Christopher answered, as Elizabeth laid her hands on her knees. "And the King hasn't pressed for any updates on my welfare before." As long as Christopher got the work done he found the King couldn't care less as to what state he was left afterwards if it wouldn't somehow affect his future battles. "Once His Majesty concedes his orders I'll be sure to answer him accordingly. But I can't give the enemies any opportunity to intercept our strategies." 

"Good. I'm glad to know you still hold respect for my father," she grins. "Given the events that have led you here." 

Christopher frowns. There was something edgy about this Princess, she spoke every word as if taunting him to contradict her, watching him from above her high-held chin. She was the face of what Christopher imagined as royalty if he hadn't known Thomas and his sweetness before, if he hadn't known how his beloved was so different. He couldn't help feeling his face heat though, feeling the shame of his failure on asking to court her stepbrother, having it spoken in front of him as though he'd committed an impertinence. The war they were living today was predictable, something Christopher knew would happen one day. He had no doubts that he would soon to be sent to fight it, and yet the King still made it feel and sound as a punishment once handing him the orders. He figured Elizabeth also knew that, that the general opinion was that that Christopher was made to fight the war in, as she'd put it, this 'long forgotten' place because he'd asked too much out of the kind hand that fed him. 

"Your father is the King, my lady, and as long as he lives I shall answer to him." 

Elizabeth's eyes sparkled. She leaned forward, giving him a wolfish grin he thought he hadn't seen outside a battlefield before. "Precisely. It's precisely my father I want to discuss here, Christopher. What if I told you he won't be living for long?" 

Christopher's eyes widened, eyes fixed on the smiling Princess. The King was old, yes, but he'd never heard anyone speaking of his death with such _delight_. 

"To be honest with you, Christopher," she looked out the window, making a disdainful face at the landscape. "I'm quite tired of this place, and I think you share the sentiment." 

"I'm afraid I don't understand you, my lady." 

Elizabeth eyed him for a moment, and smiled at last, the uncomfortable smile that made Christopher think there was something else he should be fearing. "Let me tell you what I came here to tell so I can return before my absence begins to be questioned. At this moment I'm supposed to be lying on my bed with a terrible fever that disables me from saying goodbye to my father as he departs for his travel. I don't want to meet him on the road when taking the way back because that would be a terrible coincidence to explain, don't you think?" 

Christopher's eyes strayed to her face. "The King is headed here?" 

"He absolutely is," she paused, eyes squinting with malice. "And he'll make you an offer that I'm sure you won't be able to deny." She shrugged. "But I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. Not all of them, that is." 

Opening his mouth, Christopher began saying "My Princess-", but she cut him off. 

"Our spy has gathered some very important news. The enemy army is to arrive at the coast in a few weeks time," she said and Christopher halted. "Two thousand warriors are to set foot on our land if you aren't able to stop them." 

Christopher frowns, the sudden information leaving him agitated. Two thousand? 

"I don't believe you or your men are prepared for it, am I right?" 

Christopher swallowed. "If such a thing is to indeed happen, my lady, we'll do our best to face them." 

"But their best is unimportant to us, Christopher," she looked him in the eye. "What matters the most is if you can do _your_ best. You're an infamous warrior. Defeating large numbers has never been a problem to you though I presume such virtue hasn't been so rightfully put to test before." 

There was nothing Christopher could say to that. He'd fought more men than he could count, that was true, had killed the majority of them, though he had never considered this fact to be a 'virtue' before. 

"Father wants to push you as far as you can go. You know as well as I do that back in our kingdom we can count with no other organized army if yours is defeated. That would mean we're probably to lose this war." 

"So I am your only hope," Christopher states. He's no child, he understands what the Princess is entailing. 

"Yes," she says. 

"This is what you came here to tell me?" He asks, because he knows it isn't. 

Elizabeth lowers her chin. "I'm positive you'll defeat them, Christopher. My father was stupid enough to doubt just how far you'd go once given the right incentive. But I've convinced him otherwise." 

"Then I must thank you for your trust in me, my Princess," Christopher says, out of politeness. 

"You're welcome," her satisfaction is clear in her voice. "Now that I have done you a favor I believe you're in debt with me, am I right?" 

Christopher comes to attention, a cold spark giving him a bad feeling about this. He doesn't know, doesn't remember how their conversation had led to this. This is point Elizabeth truly wanted to get to, he now realizes. He had been careful to avoid whatever it was she was hiding up her sleeve, but it seems his efforts were useless. 

"I'm sorry, my lady," he shook his head, about to deny anything if it meant Elizabeth would have the upper hand. 

She smiles coldly. "You'll know what I mean once my father offers it. Just remember that I'm the one who planted the idea in his mind and made him go through with it. Trust me, Christopher, I'm about to give you everything you've ever wished for if you win this war. It's only fair that you'll give me what I've always wished for in return. Don't you think?" 

Christopher took in a good breath, which was difficult inside the carriage, cramped as he was. She had a strange but undeniable logic on her side. "I guess this means you wish for a deal, my lady." 

"You've guessed right." 

"But I don't see what I've got to lose if I don't agree with it," this is the most daring Christopher has ever allowed himself to be. 

Elizabeth looks at him with amazement until something colder creeps on her face, the corner of her lip quirking in a snide grin. "Oh, of course. I didn't give much thought to the possibility of you taking what I've prepared for you without giving me back what you're due." She turns her hand on her lap, palm facing up. Christopher watches it attentively. Elizabeth pulls her sleeve up her pale wrist, and what Christopher sees has him widening his eyes. There, a glinting, silver blade rested. What sort of crazy witch was she? 

"It's dangerous to travel these parts by yourself, Christopher," she explains, delighted with the new way he now looks at her. "Don't worry, I've never used it before. But rest assured that I know how to. So that if it ever crosses your mind that you should take the prize I've arranged for you without paying me back you'll think twice before doing it. It's a very sharp blade, Christopher," Elizabeth murmurs, drawing his eyes once more to the weapon. "Father doesn't know I own it. It belonged to my mother. He'd known she slept with it on if he had ever given any woman more than a smidgen of his attention." 

Christopher's eyes go from the blade to her. Elizabeth leans back. "It's mostly harmless to my allies, Christopher. But I live in the castle along with a very special person," Christopher tenses: Thomas, she's talking about Thomas. "And I think it would look beautiful when slicing my dear stepbrother's throat." 

Christopher shoots up to his feet, which only has his head hitting the carriage's roof with a dull thud. He can hear a horse huffing outside, the murmurs of the guards. He can feel his blood boiling, wants to snap her neck, and though for a moment Elizabeth's eyes had flashed with fear she's now back to looking up at him in victory. 

Christopher falls back on his seat, hearing an incessant ringing in his ears. He can't believe he's been made to play whatever game this deluded woman wants to, but he knew he was powerless. She could kill Thomas if he didn't give her anything back. She lives in the castle and Christopher is bound to this sad piece of land until the war's end releases him. Christopher's got to think. There's got be a way out. 

"What do you want?" He asks, sombrely. 

Elizabeth beams. "Once you win the war you'll be the people's true King, Christopher." 

She's insane, Christopher is sure. He watches her, making the face he knows has his own men cowering in fear. Elizabeth doesn't look affected. 

"There'll be a sword. When, I cannot tell you. As I said, I don't like ruining surprises," she looks out the window, at the darkness that has fallen. "You'll know what to do with it once the time comes. And if you don't," she reaches for Christopher's hands, forced into fists on his lap. Elizabeth's tiny pale fingers look and feel so very small next to his own. She lets the shape of her blade make itself known pressed against his hand: an incentive and a threat. "I'll be there to guide your hand." 

Christopher pulls his hands away from hers, glowering. Elizabeth laughs timidly on the back of her throat. "It's gotten late, my warrior," she continues. "And I need to go. I believe so should you. It's been a great conversation. I'm glad to know I've made a true ally out of you." 

Christopher doesn't need to hear anything more than that. He needs no invitation and jumps at any tip that he's about to be released from this carriage. This trap. 

He shuts the door with a thud once stepping out. The servant and the guards look astounded. Christopher's got his shoulders up, stomping away from the carriage as though he'd just spoken to the Devil himself. And it might as well have been. 

The guard from his army, the one that had led him here, shot to his feet and gave shaky steps back once Christopher walked past him, following hastily with a torch to light the way. Christopher didn't look back at the hooded head that slipped out the window and murmured orders to the servant and guards, but he heard the horses racing away. 

In the dark the path was made more difficult, far-away howls and soft noises coming from the vegetation. Christopher paid half a mind to the old stories of spectres and evil creatures his mother used to tell him and his brothers about at night. He should've known they existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm so excited to know what you thought about the chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know when I'll be posting the next chapter but hopefully it'll be soon. Thanks for reading :)


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